


Shadows of a Man

by syredronning



Series: Rura Penthe AU [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 04:51:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21452314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/syredronning
Summary: McCoy returns from Rura Penthe, but the past cannot be overcome as quickly as Spock would prefer.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Series: Rura Penthe AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546447
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	Shadows of a Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of two stand-alone stories in my Rura Penthe AU universe. All stories start with the premise that Kirk and McCoy couldn't be saved from Rura Penthe in ST VI, the Federation President is killed and a war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire takes place. What happens to our heroes?
> 
> First posted in 2009.

The air was ice-cold and carried a stench that was distasteful to Spock. It was the strong odor of dozen of races; their sweat, body excrements and blood – he presumed – and he tried to keep his breathing low as he walked down the long stairway. In front of him three armed security guards paved the way, led by the Enterprise's first officer Leduc. Although Rura Penthe was left by all Klingon forces and in the process of being evacuated by approaching Federation ships, Leduc absolutely had refused to let her captain go down to the penal colony without an armed escort. Spock had logically pointed out that the highest danger lay in virus infections and the cold but the first officer would have none of it and Spock finally considered the topic too irrelevant for longer debate. 

Now that the Vulcan saw the ragged prisoners drawing close to the newcomers, more and more of them appearing from invisible back rooms, he appreciated Leduc's insistence on an escort. Some of the prisoners were from species he recognized but many more were from species he had never seen before, all clothed in various layers of fur. Unshaped dusty figures whose eyes were lifeless and tired, the haggard faces showing the lack of food and sunlight - all ashen, no matter what original skin color they may have had. 

The grey figures kept streaming out of their niches, filling the main hall with more acrid odor, and soon crowded around the group in a half-circle. Some of the gazes were hostile and greedy glances were shed at the warm winter jackets and the weapons of the Starfleet men. But Spock was used to dealing with such possibly critical situations on his own and waved Leduc back as the tall woman wanted to address the crowd. It was necessary to present a leader to these people; only Spock would be able to gather information he sought from them. Passing his crewmembers, he opened his winter jacket to show his dark-red Starfleet uniform to the burgeoning group. Then he pulled the glove from his right hand and raised it in a Vulcan salute. 

"Greetings to you, in the name of Starfleet. I am Captain Spock of the Enterprise. We intend no harm." 

"Did you come to bring us home?" an old man from a race unknown to Spock asked in a Klingon dialect. 

"Unfortunately, our ship is not equipped for evacuation," Spock said, half addressing the man, half the rest of the group. "But we have food and heating equipment with us that we will distribute among you later. Other ships are approaching this sector and will bring you home or to other worlds from where you can move on. As you know, the war is still in progress. We estimate it will end within the next three months but we cannot guarantee that."

The prisoners accepted his words with tired nods and murmured assents, keeping their distance from the Starfleet group (probably not the least because of the drawn weapons, Spock mused). Now that the ground was laid, Spock placed his real question. 

"I am also looking for two men, Starfleet comrades that were convicted two and half years ago," he said. "Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy. Do you know them?"

The people looked at each other, something like a frown on several of the faces.

"They were humans. They wore the same uniform as I do." Spock completely removed the winter jacket and gestured at his uniform. "Jim Kirk was accused of the assassination of the Klingon Chancellor Gorkon. You must know about him. Leonard McCoy was his physician – a doctor."

Some shrugged; some took a few steps back, as if not knowing the answer to his question might bring his wrath upon them. 

"One of you must know something," Spock insisted. He pulled out a photograph he had printed out the night before; it showed Kirk and McCoy in casual wear not long before their conviction, taken on a semi-official shooting for press pictures. He held it in front of the humanoid closest to him, then walked along the first line, catching the eyes of each man and woman before showing the picture. "Do any of you know what has happened to these men?" 

A short blue-skinned woman, one of the few females, briefly gazed at the picture, then shook her head. "Sire," she said roughly, "nobody looks himself after a few months in the mines. And rarely does a human survive for longer than a year on Rura."

A powerful feeling of defeat rose in Spock; it had accumulated over the last years, but he had always been able to keep up the hope – illogical as it may have been – that he would see his friends again one day. Now it seemed his self-deceit was revealed and reality had to be acknowledged. They were dead; they probably had been dead for years. Not mourned for, not buried as they should have been; no ritual procured for them. A terrible fate that Spock had brought upon them with his peace plans, which had failed so spectacularly. 

"Captain," someone said gently, and he looked over his shoulder. There was a sympathetic look in Leduc's eyes. "We're going to make a circle search of the quarters."

Spock nodded and temporarily switched off his universal translator. He turned to Leduc and quietly said, "Use the tricorders. The Elisa reported that only a few among the prisoners are from Federation races. The men should be able to identify them all. We will take them with us; there is enough space on the Enterprise."

Leduc nodded and walked away with one of the security guards; Spock took the second and the other two built a team of their own. As predicted, they only found two Tellarite prisoners, whom they quietly beamed to the Enterprise, as not to raise too much interest – but none of them knew Kirk or McCoy. At the end of the round, everyone returned to the main entry. Spock listened to the reports of his group with a stony face. Nobody had found a trace of their missing comrades; no Starfleet material, no other humans on Rura Penthe, no hope. It seemed the search was over, and all that was left for Spock was to mourn his friends. 

"Sir, maybe if we start another search …" Leduc vaguely suggested, but Spock was unwilling to invest more energy into a hopeless venture. "I do not think that –" he started, when a bronze-skinned alien cautiously approached him. He resembled vaguely a Federation race, the Ithanites, but was too tall for it.

"The picture…again?" he asked in broken Federation standard. Spock pulled it out of his jacket and showed it to the man. A few more prisoners approached as the alien eyed the photo. "Maqoch!" he suddenly said. "He's looking for Maqoch!" 

The prisoners around him frowned; the man showed the picture to the ones next to him, and a hearty debate in a rough, Klingonese-based pidgin ensued, most of which the universal translator was barely able to render into Standard. But finally several of the people nodded their heads in obvious agreement. "Maqoch. It has to be Maqoch," the man said and pointed at McCoy.

Spock raised a brow as the translator offered "trusted male friend of a man" as translation for that Klingon word. "And where is Maqoch now?" he asked the alien. 

"Maqoch…leaved."

"He died?" 

"No – not here. Maybe there. Other mine. On the other side. Two circles ago." 

Alerted, Spock looked at Leduc; it made the woman turn on her heels and contact the ship. There had been nothing in the reports that had indicated a mining activity on the other side of the asteroid. If it had escaped Starfleet's attention and chances were that the prisoners stationed there were starving to death by now. The Klingon forces had retreated one week ago, leaving nothing useful and barely any rations on the asteroid. Several of the undernourished, exhausted prisoners had died already before the first Starfleet ship had made it to the asteroid.

"What do you know about Maqoch?" Spock asked the man.

"He doctor. Everyone good friend." The alien returned the picture. "Not know he human. Blue-eyed, human?" 

"Humans do have blue eyes on occasion, though it is rarer than brown eyes," Spock said. "The other man – do you know anything about him?" He pointed at Kirk. 

"No." The man shook his head. 

"How long have you been here?" Spock asked. 

"Six months. Only know Maqoch."

Leduc faced Spock again, closing the communicator. "They're scanning now, sir. Two circles correspond to roughly one month in Earth time."

"Who was sent to the new mine?" Spock inquired from the alien. 

"The war prisoners. Bad life."

"Worse than here?" slipped Leduc's tongue. 

"Yes," the man said.

The Starfleet group eyed the dirty, smelly, icy surrounding with new eyes. Worse than this labor camp? Their imagination didn't want to go there.

Spock was suddenly eager to escape the unbearable atmosphere of despair and slow death and head on to the search of the second mine. He waved the alien aside, Leduc on his heels. 

"What's your name?" Spock asked the man.

"Til'ala," the man replied. "I'm from Okkaya. Colony of Trokk." 

The species and planet were unknown to Spock, but he wanted to take the man with him. He might be able to give them further important information on the asteroid. "Til'ala, do you want to come with us?" he asked. "I cannot promise a prompt journey to your home planet, but at least a transfer to the next starbase, comfortable quarters and food."

"Yes – yes!" The alien broke into something resembling a smile.

"Good. Please follow the security guards outside." Spock sent his men upstairs and followed a little behind with Leduc. 

"Commander, you take care that all rescued prisoners are given medical treatment and are assigned to joined quarters. Keep them under loose surveillance. After all, some of them may have been convicted for real crimes. " 

"Yes, sir," she said with a nod.

They quickly left the mine. When Spock stepped out, he took a deep breath and paid dearly, as the sharp cold painfully penetrated his lungs. 

"Seven to beam up," Leduc spoke into her communicator, and with a last gaze at the unforgiving ice planet, Spock vanished to rematerialize in another world.

*

It took them more than four hours to locate the second mine. None of the other two Starfleet ships currently orbiting the asteroid had had information about another mine, and due to the lack of radiation or heat output it had escaped the usual scans. They found it only because the Enterprise' inventive navigator tracked Klingon activity in certain ice patterns and extrapolated the place where the other mine had to be. Spock would mention her in his report.

Once again, Spock and Leduc beamed down with four security guards; this time, however, they also took the Enterprise's CMO and one nurse with them. Dr. Miller had been assigned to the Enterprise six months after McCoy's conviction and Spock was reasonable content with the man. He was an acceptable doctor and would be needed in this forgotten second mining camp. The door to the entry was large, metal, and bolted and fused from the outside. Outwardly controlled, Spock ordered two of the men to blast it open. Everyone else stepped aside, unsure what to expect. But when the entry was free, there was nothing to be heard. The mine lay dark and silent.

"Let us go in," Spock said and closed his hand hard around a flashlight. He noted that Leduc wanted to step in his way, but Spock would have none of that this time; he could take care of himself and he needed to see whatever disastrous scenes awaited them down there with his own eyes, instantly. 

They walked down a stairway similar to the one in the main mine. The air was stale and very cold; a tomb, the thought crossed Spock's mind. They walked a little deeper into the mine, their lights dancing through empty hallways and rooms and falling on discarded things, half-broken wooden pathways for the guards. When they came to the entry of the mining area itself, they stopped in their tracks. The way was completely blocked by debris. Obviously, the Klingons had detonated explosives on their retreat that made the hallway collapse. Spock placed his gloved hand on the stones, taking in their enormous size and estimating their weight. 

"Suggestions?" he said, his voice rough from the cold and the dreaded emotions that rose in him once again. He fought them down with determination. No matter what they found behind the blockage help needed to be brought to the other side as quickly as possible.

"We can't get this cleared with our weapons. A beam-out would be best," Leduc said.

"More of the hallway may collapse, if we do that," the leader of the security team pointed out – Brown was his name.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Spock saw the CMO frown. "Doctor?"

"I think I hear something," Miller said. 

Everyone instantly quieted and strained to listen into the bleak silence. Spock closed his eyes; there was the sound of breathing, the soft rustling of their clothes, a distant sound of wind from the entry behind them, and…

"Someone is singing," he said and opened his eyes. 

"Yes," Miller nodded.

"Survivors, at last," Spock forced out from his stiff lips. He waved at Leduc and Brown and they sat down to make up a beam-out plan. It took them one point two hours and twenty enhanced communicators that they placed on the stones, before the elaborate beaming sequence could be started. One by one the ship beamed out the stones, and after each they paused briefly, checking for a shift in the other stones or any danger of more of the hallways' ceiling to break down. The whole process took another fifty minutes. Frozen from the cold despite a heater unit, they could finally walk into the hallway. The singing was clearly audible now, but still in the distance. They followed the noise, walking along dark corridors in which the reminders of dilithium glittered in the lights of their flashlights. 

At last they approached the source of the singing and stepped onto a kind of balcony. From there they could look into another large hall at their feet. Dozens of people sat on the ground, huddled together; their voices, each weak but joined together in a chorus, touched Spock deeply. The song was unknown to him but it sounded Terran. It echoed in the hall, whose sleek walls seemed to have prevented the outbreak of the prisoners. Almost reluctant to stop the song's flow, he put his hand on the handrail of the balcony, wondering how to get down. 

"Sir – a staircase!" Brown pointed to the left. It was a large metal construction, and it took them a moment to find the leverage mechanism that allowed them to lower it to the ground. With much noise it settled on the hall's floor but the song never stopped. Only when they went down the stairs and drew close enough to come face to face with the captives did the prisoners started to look up. They all wore leftovers of Starfleet uniforms or those of allied forces. Obviously, the Klingons had made this mine exclusively for human prisoners of war. Their eyes were overly large and the skin spanned over exhausted faces made heads look like skulls. Spock had been correct in his prediction; these people were close to dying from starvation. Some of them didn't move even now, and he saw Miller and the nurse walk along the line, checking everyone and closing the eyes of some. 

Spock went down on one knee next to a woman who seemed somewhat familiar. "Lieutenant Ala?" he said and gently lifted her face. She had been on the Enterprise for seven months before she had been transferred to a ship that was later reported MIA. 

"Sir…?" she said, her unfocused eyes resting on him without a flicker of recognition.

"This is Spock. Captain Spock from the Enterprise. We are here to rescue you."

"Sir…" The woman's eyes fell close and her body slacked. Spock eased her head against the wall and waved for the CMO. Miller was instantly at his side, checking on her. "Just unconscious. She'll probably make it," he said softly. 

"Captain Spock…?" a man two places to her left murmured. Spock changed position, and it took him a moment to realize that the curled, haggard figure was a man who in the past had been a broad-shouldered, lively Marsian. 

"Captain Pori." Spock knew the fellow captain from various official meetings and had always enjoyed his company. He clasped the man's hand. It was blue and stiff. "Captain, you will all be rescued as quickly as possible. You have my word to it." Spock took a deep breath. "I'm looking for a friend. His name is McCoy. He was reported to have transferred to here from the other side of Rura Penthe."

"Maqoch," Pori murmured.

"Maqoch, yes. Where is he?" Spock asked urgently. 

"With the dead."

"He died?" 

"No…other room." 

"Thank you," Spock said. "Help will come to you immediately," he repeated and then rose to his feet. He searched the hall and when he saw the exit into the next corridor, he rushed to it.

"Sir, be careful!" Leduc called after him, but Spock ignored her. There was nothing to fear in these corridors…nothing but the dead. The first room to the left was empty, but the one to the right was not. In it, covered bodies were laying in small piles, carefully arranged and waiting for the next dead to follow. Spock walked into the room, passing the immobile bodies with baited breath. 

"Leonard McCoy," he called out. "Spock here. If you hear me, please make a sound. Anything." He fell silent and listened. The room was larger than he had first thought, and full of dead Starfleet personnel. A tomb indeed. But the cold at least prevented the odor of decay from becoming too overwhelming.

"Maqoch! McCoy! Answer me." Spock shouted into the room. "This is an order, commander!" 

Again, only silence – then, suddenly, from somewhere, a little laughter that was instantly followed by a cough.

"Nobody has dared to speak to me…like that…in ages." The voice was weak, but Spock would recognize it everywhere. He followed the sound around a corner, and fell to his knees as he saw the small, folded figure down on the floor. Huddled in several layers of fur, the hair long, a beard covering the face, sat the long-missed doctor. 

"McCoy," Spock said, barely able to speak. He put his hands around the man's shoulders. "Leonard…" He embraced him and pressed his cheek against the human's cold one. Hands weakly patted his arms in an answering gesture. When Spock sank back on his heels, blue eyes met his, focused and alert for a moment. "Never thought that I'd see you again…" McCoy whispered. He lifted a hand on which the skin looked almost translucent, showing the veins and bones, and touched Spock's face. "Spock… I'm so sorry…"

Spock captured the cold hand. "Is Jim dead?"

"Yes. Killed shortly after our arrival. I'm so sorry…" The hand slacked in Spock's grip as McCoy's energy ran out.

"I am here with the Enterprise, which is still under my command. This place will be evacuated as quickly as possible." Spock crouched at McCoy's side. "And you will be the first one to leave." He placed his right arm under McCoy's legs, the left one behind his back. "Hold on to me, doctor," Spock said, but then noted that his friend was too weak to do so. Without further commenting on it, Spock scooped McCoy in his arms and rose to stand. He couldn't believe how light the body was; there was barely any weight to it. The heaviest things were the manacles around McCoy's ankles, a chain between them that jangled in the silence. 

McCoy's head sunk against Spock's chest. "That's awfully nice of you," he whispered and fell silent, lids closing. 

Spock rushed back to the main hall, passing the lines of dead without another look. When Miller saw him approaching, he quickly finished with his current patient and checked on the man in Spock's arms. 

"Bad state, but I think he'll make it. We can't beam from down here, so we've got to get everyone up the metal stairway and back to the main hall near the entry. You'll carry him?"

"Yes." 

"Okay. More crew and medical personnel are on the way; Leduc's doing a great job organizing it. Go with McCoy. Doctor T'Vei is waiting for the first patients in sickbay."

"Yes, doctor. Thank you," Spock said hoarsely. He briefly checked with Leduc and indeed the first officer had everything under control. For once finding that his personal need to save McCoy was greater than any thought about others, Spock was relieved to be able to put the rescue mission into Leduc' responsible hands. He left the icy underground grave with McCoy in his arms and climbed the stairs as quickly as he could. The cold needled his aching lungs, but he ignored it, not willing to stay a second longer on this asteroid than absolutely necessary. The hallway was starting to get crowded, but everyone gave way to the captain and his load, the visible urgency keeping everyone from addressing him. 

Spock arrived at the beaming point in the main hall just when it was established and enhanced with several pattern buffer stabilizers. Even with the magnetic shield off, the composition of the penal asteroid at this position was not conductive to beaming living beings out of underground caverns. Transporting only worked because of the stabilizers. Spock stepped into the circle formed by them and nodded to the crewman at the side.

"The captain and one patient to beam up into sickbay," the man said

"Acknowledged," the reply came promptly, and seconds later, Spock felt the beam catching them to deliver them to their next destination. 

*

In sickbay, quick care was taken of McCoy; he was undressed and washed, check-ups were run, and outer injuries were dealt with. T'Vei, the Vulcan doctor and healer, assured Spock that McCoy would very likely survive, but gently made it clear that the captain was to wait outside for the time being. It gave Spock half an hour to deal with the ship's business. When he returned to sickbay, McCoy rested on a bio-bed, a thermo blanket pulled up to his throat. One arm was covered under it; the other lay outside, so slim and bony that it seemed to Spock a miracle that the medical team had been able to attach infusions to it. The rough beard and the long hair were still in place, and gave McCoy a strangely wild look.

"How is his status?" Spock eyed the readings. In contrast to the medical tricorder, he had always found the bio-bed readouts to be less logically ordered and conclusive; too much data, some of it irrelevant in his eyes. But that was the way most human doctors preferred it, and T'Vei obviously had adjusted to it. The young Vulcan woman went to his side and placed a hand on his arm. Spock briefly closed his eyes and accepted the unique reduction of stress a healer's touch always brought. T'Vei was onboard due to a suggestion of Sarek, and for once Spock was grateful for the advice – and the healer. 

"I apologize for my loss of control," he said when she removed her hand.

"No apology necessary, captain," she said. "He was the carrier of your katra, and of the highest honor."

"Was?"

"The humans' language pattern will be my undoing," she said. "He still is, captain. He will survive. However, he is very weak at the moment. It will take at least two days until he will be able to leave this bed."

"What is the diagnosis?"

"He suffered from severe starvation and anemia, but he also has a weakened heart due to the cold and several other side effects from the conditions of his imprisonment. There are many old wounds and several damaged teeth. But his prospects are good; there will probably be no lasting reminders." 

"I thank thee," Spock said formally in Vulcan, gathering strength from his home's unemotional language.

"He keeps asking for someone called Karon. I have not been able to answer his questions. It would be helpful if you inquired about the whereabouts of this person."

As if by signal, McCoy moved slightly. The Vulcans turned their focus on him. Spock took his hand and pressed it gently. "Leonard, do you hear me?"

A small smile on the lips showed an unspoken yes. 

"I will go and look for Karon."

"Karon," McCoy repeated in a harsh, Klingonese pronounciation. "Yes."

"If he is still on Rura Penthe, I will locate him," Spock promised. There was no answer, and T'Vei put her hand on McCoy's shoulder. "He sleeps. But he will recover," she said. "He has a high level of endurance." 

"Indeed," Spock said. Then he walked to the next intercom and ordered Til'ala to be brought to the captain's office, on explicitly friendly terms.

*

As expected Til'ala was nervous when he faced the Vulcan captain but Spock was able to dispel the alien's fears of being left behind on Rura Penthe, or anything worse. Spock quickly accepted the man's excessive praise for the good living conditions and the food, determined to come to the point. 

"I only need more information from you," Spock repeated again. "Information that will help us, just like you helped us with the second mine."

"You find Maqoch?" the man asked.

"Yes. His state was not good when we found him. The prisoners in the second mine had been barricaded to starve to death in the mines when the Klingons left. We could only save thirty-four of what must have been hundreds of prisoners of war. But Maqoch will live."

"Good – good." Til'ala smiled. "You ask."

"Do you know anyone called Karon?"

"No," the man said, shaking his head. "Sometimes Maqoch speak of Karon, but never see."

"What did he say about him?"

"Must have been good friend. Klingon. Doctor."

"A Klingon doctor," Spock repeated. "Do you know if he went to the other mine with Maqoch?

"New mine, only human. Not know where Karon."

Spock gave up, deciding to focus the search for that man on the Rura Penthe databanks instead. "Thank you, Til'ala. You will be brought back to your quarters."

"Can I see Maqoch?" the alien asked.

"At another time, maybe," Spock said. He would have to ask the doctors if visitors were allowed, and of course, ask McCoy if he wanted to see this man or anyone else anyway. He rose from his seat to end the discussion, and the alien mirrored his movement.

"Good ship," Til'ala said as he walked out of the office. "Had ship too, before Rura Penthe. Maybe get back."

Spock was curious why the man had been convicted, but postponed the question, as it might damage the good rapport that they had right now. Maybe he would need more information from him in the future. 

He ordered the man to be brought back to quarters and went to sickbay. McCoy was asleep and unresponsive, and the doctors estimated he would be like this for the next several hours. 

Spock briefly conferred with Miller and T'Vei regarding the state of the other rescued prisoners and walked around to speak a few words with everyone, shaking hands with the two people he knew more closely- Captain Pori and Lieutenant Ala. Gratitude lay in their touches, and he embraced the emotion, knowing that without his search for the one, many would have died. It was a belated justification for his diverting to Rura Penthe, which he had logically argued for in his statement to the admiralty, but which had been entirely motivated by emotion. 

Finally coming to an end, Spock decided to leave for the bridge. But when he was at the door a nurse walked out of McCoy's corner, waving at him. Spock stopped and turned, raising a brow in question. 

"Sir, Doctor McCoy would like to speak to you for a moment," she said, and Spock walked up to McCoy's bed. 

"Spock…" McCoy said weakly when Spock went behind the curtain. "Thanks for everything." 

The Vulcan sat down at the left side of the bed and clasped the hand of his friend. "Doctor."

"Didn't think I'd see you ever again." McCoy smiled, his eyes crossing over Spock's face. "You haven't changed a lot, Spock. Looking good and healthy." 

"Now that you are onboard the Enterprise, your health will soon be restored," Spock said. "T'Vei told me that your prospects are favorable."

"Yes, she said something like that." McCoy closed his eyes again. "Spock…"

"You are tired, doctor. We can talk later," Spock said.

"You've got to get my doctor's equipment from Rura. It was nearby me when you found me. It's a dirty-brown, bulky bag. We need it."

"We?"

"Yes. We do." McCoy didn't elaborate and seemed to fall asleep again. Spock left and ordered the retrieval of the bag.

*

The next time Spock visited McCoy, he placed the bag next to McCoy's bed. "It was found at the described place, doctor. Is there anything special I should do with it?"

"Take it to your room and get everything out until you get down to the bottom," McCoy said. "There's something for you in it."

Spock thought for a moment and then said, "It can wait until you will be there with me." 

"There with you?" McCoy asked, his right eyebrow slightly rising. 

"I had the room redecorated; you will be able to inhabit it with me."

"Spock, I…"

"I need you," Spock said quietly. 

"What?" McCoy's eyes widened.

"I require your company, doctor. And then we will talk about everything."

McCoy searched Spock's eyes for a second, then nodded. "Very well, Spock. I guess it's a good idea. T'Vei doesn't want me to leave yet, but maybe, if I just move into your quarters and you babysit me, I can escape sickbay sooner." 

Spock nodded. "I have some duties left to deal with; then I will return and ask for the doctor's opinion on your release to quarters." Then he remembered something. "One of the rescued prisoners asked me if he could visit you."

"Who?"

"Til'ala. He was the one to recognize you in the picture I showed around in the first mine." 

"Til'ala? Can't remember that name," McCoy said. 

"Bronze-skinned, medium size, claimed he is a Trokk."

McCoy creased his forehead in thoughts but then shook his head. "Really, can't remember," he repeated helplessly.

"It is of no importance," Spock quickly said when he noted McCoy's distress over this lapse, and touched his friend's cool hand. "Sleep, Leonard - I will return later." 

*

T'Vei and Miller agreed with Spock's plan when he spoke with them at the end of the beta shift, on the condition that McCoy would wear a transponder bracelet that constantly sent his life signs to the medical department for surveillance. He also needed to take additional nutrients twice a day, and to follow the diet plan created for him by the medical department. McCoy agreed reluctantly but Spock quietly assured the doctors that he would keep an eye on his friend. 

McCoy put his foot down on being carried or wheel-chaired around, and walked to Spock's cabin on his own two legs, but he at least accepted Spock's support. When the door closed behind them, Spock carefully lowered him onto the large bed.

"Queen size," McCoy stated, amusedly patting the cover with his hands. "Not what I'd have expected from you."

"Just a temporary change, doctor." Spock gently removed McCoy's boots. 

"What did you do?" McCoy eyed the activity critically.

"I had to promise the doctors that you would rest as much as possible for the next days. Your body was at the limit of endurance and needs to restore its strength slowly."

"Don't like that," McCoy grunted without edge, but allowed Spock to help him out of the jacket and pants. Down to a t-shirt and boxers, McCoy soon found himself in bed and covered by two thick blankets.

"What did you mean, you need me?" he asked in a low voice when Spock straightened the covers over his chest. 

"I need to…experience you," Spock said.

"Strange expression," McCoy replied. "So, are you ready to open my bag?" he asked in a swift change of subject.

"I am, doctor," Spock said, and sat down on the nearby table. The medium-sized, bulky bag was a dirty grey and filled with various items of medicinal usage, including something like a Klingon tricorder. Spock pulled out the objects until the main compartment was finally empty.

"Feel the bottom for the latch. Lift it up." McCoy had turned to the side, his head propped up on his left hand. 

Spock's fingers glided along the edges of the bag's bottom and hooked on a little opening. The fake, first leather bottom lifted, and he took it out. Beneath it, his fingers felt another material – fabric. The Vulcan caught it and pulled it out. He took a deep breath as he stretched the garment out on the table in the bright light. The uniform jacket looked almost like it had the last time he had seen it, except for the big cut in the middle of the chest and the much darker, brown color all around it. His fingers glided over the material, straightening it without thinking. 

"How did he die?" Spock asked at last, eyes still on the jacket.

"In the mines," McCoy replied from the bed. "On the second day. There was a fight; he got involved. They wanted him to get involved. He'd been in a fight within the first minutes of our arrival. There was a reward on our heads. He won the first fight. The next day, though…shovels are sharp tools. And I didn't have the means to help him…or fix him," McCoy added sadly. 

"It was not your fault, doctor," Spock said. "Without me, you would never have been in that situation." He took the jacket in his hands and lifted it. When he turned it around, he saw the patch. It was still there, right in the place where Spock personally had attached it. The device supposed to save Kirk and McCoy from Rura Penthe.

Spock turned to face McCoy, his throat tight. "You could have escaped. Why didn't you leave the shield?" 

"Why should I have done that?" McCoy asked back quietly. "Jim hadn't told me what this patch was about. It was a day after his death that I really noticed it and had a sudden idea what it may have been good for, but I couldn't be sure. And then the war started and the idea of escape became obsolete because they brought me in for interrogation."

"He didn't tell you?" Spock was unable to hide the horror that came with realizing the results of this failure.

"He tried but I didn't get it." McCoy waved his hand. "I don't blame him. Command decision. I know the deal. But you can still tell me what you had planned." 

"You and Jim had to get out of the magnetic shield. With this viridium patch, we would have been able to locate you from two sectors away, would have flown into Klingon territory and rescued you."

"Good plan. Might have worked if I had known about it," McCoy said emotionlessly.

"Doctor…"

"Spilled milk," McCoy said, unwilling to discuss the subject further. He leaned back into the cushions and pulled the warm blankets up to the chin. "Don't you have a ship to run?" he asked. 

"I do, doctor." Spock gently placed the uniform jacket on the table. "I will return later. If you need anything, call Yeoman Bougres over the intercom."

"Fine." McCoy turned to his other side as Spock left and tried to sleep, but his thoughts returned to the past.

_It was their first real day on Rura Penthe and, after a brief excursion to the distasteful toilet area and lining up for a breakfast – which consisted of a bowl of watery, cold soup – they took the lift to the mines. They waited for Martia to show up but she never came. Finally they descended to the lowest level. There was no introduction to the work, and they tagged along into the mine's arm and did what everyone else did, hammering the wall away to get to the blinking dilithium. _

_"Seems your date wasn't keen on meeting you, after all," McCoy said to Kirk as they started to swing the pickaxes. _

_"She'll show up," Kirk said and flashed a grin. _

_"Let's hope so, by goodness." McCoy eyed the wall in front of him and wondered if he'd develop muscles faster from the work than he'd lose them from the lack of food. It was warmer in the mine than on the main level, and he was soon sweating under his many layers. Other prisoners came, some passing them, all finding their own spot. McCoy didn't realize for a while that they started gathering closer to them – not until a few had slid up next to him. _

_"That's my wall," McCoy said to the man closest to him. He poked the stone. "Mine," he repeated and pointed the forefinger to his own chest. The man gave McCoy an ugly look and shoved him into the wall. _

_"Guess they're not coming for your dilithium, Bones," Kirk said with a resigned expression in his face. The captain took the pickax in both hands and turned with his back to the wall. McCoy, belatedly understanding, was instantly pulled away from Kirk and held back as four large aliens started to besiege his friend. McCoy struggled against his captors without much effect, and finally gave in, watching the fight. He had every trust in Jim that he'd make it, like the day before. Jim was a survivor par excellence. That he'd die down here in the mines wasn't something McCoy could ever see happen._

_Not until Kirk lay on the ground, groaning in pain. The alien ambushers retreated as if they had just been a ghost, not even making sure that their victim was dead yet. McCoy sank down on his knees next to his friend, taking a shaky breath as he shoved the fur out of the way to assess the damage. The gruesome slice from a sharpened shovel had gone so deep across Jim's belly that McCoy could see the inner organs. Even on the Enterprise, this would've been a close call. In a place like Rura Penthe, wounds like this were a death warrant. _

_"Jim, my god," McCoy whispered and placed his hands on the large wound, as if he could hold it together with his own fingers. Blood was streaming out of the injury and it would be only seconds before Kirk would lose consciousness; at least that would end the agony his friend had to be in. "Jim…" he repeated helplessly and felt tears rising. _

_Kirk clamped one hand into McCoy's fur and tried to say something._

_"Jim, what is it?" McCoy said and bent down, trying to understand him. Kirk repeated his words, again and again. "Take – my uniform," McCoy finally understood. _

_"Yes, Jim, I'm going to take your uniform with me," McCoy promised._

_In an inhuman effort, Kirk raised his voice once more. "Gotta escape. Get back to Spock."_

_McCoy nodded again. "I'll do it," he said, not having a clue how he would accomplish that. _

_"Good. My uniform. You'll make it." Kirk's lids fluttered, and agony mirrored in the well-known face for some more seconds before all pain receded from his features and the body slacked. McCoy sat above him, the fingers still on the wound as the blood flow ended and the red-brown fluid quickly stiffened in the cold. He sank back on his heels and wiped his hands on his own fur, then closed Kirk's eyes. "Farewell, Jim," he whispered. _

_How often had he thought that Jim or Spock had died, only to be rescued at last moment? Even Spock had returned from the very dead. But this was final. There would be no last minute intervention, no miracles. Jim was dead, and McCoy felt like a goddamn loser for still being alive. He was the perfect, easy target, not Jim. It should've been him dying in this ice hole, not Jim. _

_McCoy wiped away a tear that cooled on his chin, and started undressing Kirk. He took the uniform shirt, wet with blood, and folded and stowed it under his own. Then he dressed Jim into the furs again, preparing him for the last journey to wherever. "Oh, Jim," he whispered and cradled his friend's body for a while until the guards approached their location. The Klingons arrived very late; it was obvious they had been told to keep away. They took the body to dispose it wherever, and ordered McCoy up to the main hall for the day. He lay on the bunk – Jim's bunk – and curled, wishing the aliens had outright killed him too, or the Klingons had at least allowed him to keep on working. This way, he was left alone with his gloomy thoughts, expecting his own death blow to come at any minute._

_He didn't get Jim's reference to his uniform and the escape until one and a half days later, when he pulled out the uniform from under his clothes to hide it under the bunk. Only then did he notice the patch and realized that there had been a plan B…but nobody had told him. "Shit," McCoy murmured and stowed it away. He spent the next hour thinking about his options, but then they came for him, rendering any hope of escape futile. _

McCoy turned over with a sigh and finally fell asleep.

*

McCoy slept most of the next twenty-four hours, and much better than he had in sickbay. There he often had felt disturbed by the noises from the other side of the curtain, but in Spock's cabin the silence felt peaceful and protective and lulled him into sleep much more easily. It also helped a great deal that Spock refrained from asking him more questions. Thinking about the past was painful for McCoy, and he was thankful to be spared it for a little while longer. 

Twice, T'Vei came over to check on him. McCoy liked the young woman a lot, and the cool, detached way in which she discussed his various medical conditions was more bearable than open commiseration. And yet she wasn't distanced or cold. She was just professional in a Vulcan way, reminding him of the healers after the refusion. They made a tiny little bit of small talk while he took the nutrients, but she always left quickly, returning to patients that needed her more than he did, and that was perfectly alright. 

Finally, it was the hunger that dispelled McCoy's sleep, but he felt too deprived of energy to get up and call for a yeoman. Good for him that Spock arrived only half an hour later and instantly contacted the kitchen for food. While they were waiting, McCoy made it to the bathroom without help and saw that as a little victory. He went to the toilet, then took a long, warm shower. The towels were soft, and Spock had prepared a fresh robe for him. He cradled himself into the plushy material and sighed happily.

The face in the mirror didn't yet look like him – or any other civilized being for that matter, he thought, although they had shortened the beard and the hair in sickbay. He was happier about the tooth job he'd received. He opened his mouth and looked at the results. It had been a while since all gaps had been filled with his own teeth, and he was glad about the prospect of soon being able to bite normally. The new teeth still felt a little strange, and he'd been warned that the maxillary sinus needed to adjust to the change, but that was just a little inconvenience compared to the past.

When he came out of the bathroom the meal was ready and served on the table, water and wine next to it. They ate in comfortable silence, McCoy cherishing every bite of his light vegetarian pasta. He barely managed to eat a quarter of the plate though, his stomach still small and unused to normal food. Spock helped him back to the bed, ignoring his complains, and sat down next to him. 

"You like putting me in bed, it seems," McCoy said a little disgruntled. "Is that your revenge for all the times you had to stay in sickbay? I'm not tired yet."

"But you also didn't regain much strength," Spock said. His eyes wandered to the bottle of lotion McCoy had been given by T'Vei. "This lotion was prescribed to you, but it looks untouched. Your skin needs nourishment for healing from the effects of dehydration and malnutrition."

"I know, but I feel too tired to apply it," McCoy admitted.

"I will do it," Spock stated. "Please remove your shirt."

"Uh, Spock –"

"Please, Doctor," Spock said calmly, and helped McCoy strip off the shirt. 

McCoy sighed. "Your voice has developed that classic command inflexion, did you notice?" he said as he lay down and closed his eyes. With sure, warm fingers, Spock distributed the lotion on McCoy's chest and from there distributed it all over the upper front body. 

The Vulcan noted the irregular patterns of white lines, thinner and broader, longer and shorter, all over McCoy's chest, but did not comment on them. Whatever had been done to his friend, it didn't seem to have an impact on McCoy anymore, as the human lay relaxed and peaceful under his hands.

"Mind telling me what became of our friends?" McCoy asked. "They've all left the ship, haven't they?"

"Yes. They were too valuable to stay here. Uhura is on Earth, working for the cryptography department of the Intelligence Agency. Mister Scott is also on Earth, working on improving the 'Fleet's engine and weapon systems. Captain Sulu and the Excelsior excelled in the war so far, as did Chekov with the ship he's commanding now, a smaller cruiser named 'Moscow'." 

McCoy laughed. "What a fitting name. So, we've come through with only a few losses, did we?"

"Commander Rand died on a station that was attacked by Klingon forces."

"Oh. That's sad." Silence fell upon them for a while, the sound of skin on skin the only one in the room. 

"What about Valeris?" McCoy asked at last. "She liked you a lot. I sometimes wondered if -" The way Spock looked away made him stop.

"I'm sorry if I touched an open wound," McCoy said quietly. 

"Yes, you did. But it was one of my own doing, so no apologies are necessary." Spock removed his hand. "Please turn onto your stomach."

McCoy obediently turned around. The lotion felt cool on his back, and a shiver ran through him before Spock's warm hands could ease the transition. It felt good to be cared for – something McCoy rarely had been able to admit to himself in the past, but that had changed on Rura Penthe. Without Karon, he wouldn't have made it. Come to think of it, it hadn't felt much different… Under the soothing strokes, he almost fell asleep when Spock resumed speaking.

"You are correct," Spock said. "Lieutenant Valeris was very much interested in me, and for a while after your arrest, I considered taking up her offer. However, she was found to be part of a larger conspiracy and the one who had been responsible for the sabotaged databanks of the Enterprise."

"What?" McCoy said in disbelief.

"She also gave Jim's recorded log entry to the Klingons, which was used in the trial, and hired the men to assassinate the Chancellor. She later killed them to keep it a secret."

"But why?" McCoy whispered. 

"She believed that a treaty with the Klingons would be the end of the world as we know it," Spock said, the sudden force in his pressure showing his tension more than his words. "And she was correct – it would have changed many things. But in a way more preferable than this war."

McCoy sighed. "Oh damn. And there I thought you and her might have got together." Spock's touch broke stride for a moment, and McCoy snorted. "Don't deny that you've been lonely. Jim and I were your best friends. Don't tell me you didn't miss us, even though you haven't exactly been on Jim's good side after the crap you pulled at that meeting."

"I wasn't, and believe me, doctor, there is little I regret more in my life than the decisions I made in the course of that one month," Spock said quietly.

"Dining on ashes…" McCoy rose from the bed and half-turned on his elbows to look at Spock. "We've all been close to dying one time or another. If not this time, who knows what would've gotten him the next time."

Spock briefly looked away. "You know it was my doing that brought you to Rura Penthe."

"Having just learned that there was a full conspiracy behind it, I'd say it was not your fault. And of course, who could have known that Jim and I were stupid enough to beam over?" McCoy said. 

"Everyone who knew you. And it was a logical decision," Spock said with a frown.

"I know. Just wanted to ease your mind. It's done and over, Spock. We can't change the past." McCoy sank his forehead down on his palms, wondering when this bone-deep tiredness would end. He probably should start to work out, but couldn't imagine pulling his weak, still starved body into the gym for an aerobic competition with the fit crewmembers. 

"May I proceed on your lower part of the body with the lotion?" Spock asked.

"Sure," McCoy said, enjoying the way Spock distributed the lotion onto his extremely dry skin… and wondering what Spock was up to - or what he, in the depth of his mind, would want Spock to be up to.

"So, you had to lead the Enterprise into the war," McCoy said after a while.

"It was either that or resigning to a desk job, and I felt less qualified for that. For a while, I also assumed that we would be able to rescue you from Rura Penthe. But that hope diminished over time."

"Jim would've been happy to give her to you," McCoy said, a sudden fatigue and sadness washing over him. "He always thought you'd be a great captain."

"My crew accepts me, but I will never be able to evoke the same commitment in them," Spock stated. "Or show the same brilliancy in decisions as he did."

"Don't say that. I've heard a few stories in sickbay about the Enterprise's brilliant captain and the heroic battles he's led the ship in. They adore you, as much as they adored Jim."

Spock's hands tightened around McCoy's lower legs, and McCoy could feel the upcoming argument. He decided to cut it short.

"Spock – they adore you. Their captain is a Starfleet hero, and they're serving on the legendary Enterprise. Don't sell yourself short, Spock. That's not a Vulcan trait."

The bed moved, and McCoy realized Spock had stood up. He turned his head, seeing Spock out of the corner of his eye. 

"I'm sorry if you can't stand the truth, Spock, but I can't bear to see you fall back into the 'I'm only the first officer' stance. You're the captain, once and for all. Jim's gone. Deal with it."

Spock had gone to the couch, on which Kirk's uniform lay. "Have you dealt with it, doctor?"

"Yes. That's what you learn when you're becoming a doctor. Letting people go. Letting friends go, comrades, even loved ones…and move on." McCoy sat up. "Remember the encounter with the Tholians?"

"You were so ready to give him up," Spock said, a tinge of accusation in his voice. 

"I had to, because I had to make the first officer ready to take command," McCoy said, folding his arms around his knees. "I didn't like it, but it was my job." 

"So when Jim died, you simply moved on?"

"Not right away, Spock. Because losing him deprived me of all reason to live. And when they took me in for interrogation… I didn't think I'd make it for long."

Again, fatigue swept over McCoy. He sighed. "I'm sorry, Spock. I'm exhausted, and I'm losing grip on this conversation. Let's talk later." He sank back and curled in the bedding. 

Spock froze, Kirk's torn uniform in his hand. He wasn't used to arguing with McCoy anymore, as little as he was used to being confronted with his feelings. T'Vei was the only one he would ever talk about these aspects with, but she was a Vulcan healer and would never become argumentative as McCoy was. He felt slightly at a loss as he put the uniform down. He had thought he had come to terms with his role on the ship – and certainly, the crew that had gone through many missions with him thought so – but thinking through McCoy's words, he realized that there was an aspect of hero admiration regarding Jim Kirk that he had never overcome. He reflected on it and decided it was not necessary to do so – it was not illogical to accept that Jim Kirk had been the greater, more successful leader. 

He stepped to the bed, wanting to tell McCoy this, but refrained from doing so when he stared down on the still, ashen face and the exhaustion that mirrored itself in the figure. Arguments were costly in energy, and nothing McCoy could indulge in for now. Spock would speak to him later… if McCoy remembered the discussion at all. 

After a last, gentle touch on McCoy's forehead, Spock left his quarters and went to the bridge. 

*

"Captain, we have received new orders," was the first thing Leduc said to him when he sat in his center seat. The first officer gave him the PADD.

They were ordered to diverge from their present course to Starbase 10. Unexpected, but not unusual. 

"I already laid the course, Captain."

"Good."

"There is also a second order, Captain." The woman hesitated. Spock paged to it, reading it twice before meeting her gaze again.

"Doctor McCoy shall be separated from the other rescued prisoners. As he already is." He returned the PADD to the first officer.

"Sir – they want us to put him in solitary detention," Leduc said quietly. 

"He will not go anywhere," Spock said. "He is under my personal supervision and surveillance. If Starfleet suggests that I should place a just rescued, still recovering officer into a cell, surely all sense of military civility and courtesy has been lost in this war. Dismissed." He raised a brow at Leduc as she remained at his chair.

"Captain –"

"Dismissed, Commander," Spock repeated. 

"Yes, sir." The woman made a small courtly bow, then went to her own station, submerging herself into the newest battle tactics.

*

The next eighteen hours brought a few smaller conflicts with scattered Klingon parties, and kept Spock largely away from McCoy. It was only in the evening that they met again in Spock's cabin, sharing dinner. 

McCoy seemed relaxed and energized, and Spock finally inquired about what had happened to McCoy after Jim's death, including the role of the mysterious Karon. Spock knew better than most that McCoy had never been averse to homosexual activity, but within certain limits; the doctor had always said that he would never consider pursuing a serious relationship with a man. Maybe this had changed on Rura Penthe, out of necessity to keep McCoy from becoming the unwanted interest of other men, or because of true personal interest. 

"I am curious, doctor," Spock began as the meal was over and they resigned to coffee and tea. "I am under the impression that you had an intimate relationship with Karon, the man you inquired about. May I ask how that came to pass?"

"Oh, yes, you may. It's not as if we had a lot of secrets from each other over the last decade," McCoy said, a smile crossing his face. "Yes – yes, he was my lover." He saw Spock's rising brow and said, "Why don't you let me start at the beginning, Spock? That would make some things much easier."

"Of course," Spock said. 

McCoy cradled his cup of coffee. "Beginning after Jim's death, that is. It was a big blow for me, though not really surprising. With the reward on our heads, I expected them to come after me too. Kobayashi Maru. I don't think I would've fought them. But strangely enough, everyone kept away from me. I went into the mines for a day and worked. It was harsh labor, the air icy and dusty. After a day, the war began, and the Klingons came for me and put me in solitary detention. They started interrogating me, wanted to get information about the Enterprise, the fleet…anything I would've been able to give them. I didn't tell them anything, so they gave me the third degree." McCoy took his cup and sipwped.

"I was in bad shape after a while, so they sent their version of a doctor to me. It was a fellow prisoner, a man who had been something like a caretaker on the colony he came from. A young Klingon, not yet twenty five years old by their standards."

"Karon," Spock assumed.

"Yes." McCoy's gaze drifted as the memory came back to him.

_Completely naked, McCoy sat on a kind of metal chair that was sealed into the ground. His arms were laced through the metal bars that formed its back, the elbows brutally tied together and to the gutter without much regard for human anatomy. The seat was cut in the middle and his upper legs and ankles were tied to the right and left side of the chair's metal legs, leaving his vulnerable parts exposed. His violated genitals hung between the two halves of the seat, the burns from the electro torture one of the throbbing reminders of the last day. The room was cold, and his teeth were chattering. Freezing liquid added to the cold, Klingon spit and Klingon piss. He tried to get his mind to drift to a nicer place, but reality was too painful to ignore. _

_When the door opened, he blinked at the light that fell into the dark room. Was it time already? He desperately wanted it to end. _

_"Please…" he whispered, acutely feeling his torn lips and the broken teeth that cut into his mouth's inner side. "I don't know anything. I don't have the information you want." A lie, but he would never become a traitor._

_One of the men slapped him across the face. "Shut up," the Klingon snapped. They took the water hose and bathed him in icy water, cleaning him from head to toe. Finally McCoy felt the ties released, then the guards left except for one young man. He stepped closer, a device in his hands, and said something in Klingonese. McCoy didn't understand a word. _

_The man nodded in understanding, then took his arm, waving to the metal bed in the corner. McCoy tried to stand up, but his legs gave way, and he slid from the torture chair towards the ground, grunting in agony. The man caught him and lifted him without effort to place him gently on the bed, arranging the numb limbs in a comfortable position. Then he examined him carefully, making sure that he didn't add to the injuries and the great pain McCoy was in. He was the gentlest Klingon McCoy had ever encountered, and an incredible feeling of gratitude rose in him. _

McCoy shook himself out of his reverie, returning to the here and now. "Yes. Karon was told to treat me, but didn't have the knowledge. He barely spoke Standard – I didn't know any Klingon. His tricorder and bone knitter had signs I'd never seen. Nevertheless, we somehow figured out a few things between us, and he was able to treat my worst injuries. He showed up a few more times, and we build a kind of friendship. He made sure that the interrogators took a little care for my human frailties and didn't outright kill me. Though there were moments in which I didn't really appreciate that." 

_"Couldn't you just let me die?" he whispered after an especially harsh session on the chair, when he woke from his unconsciousness because of a stimulant shot into his arm by the Klingon. He eyed Karon as the young man diligently treated his worst wounds. "You're only prolonging the inevitable." He knew that Karon's Standard wasn't good enough to capture the full essence of his words, but the Klingon understood the gist of it. Surely the young man would have the means to ease his final escape, if he wanted to._

_Karon frowned deeply and shook his head. "Good doctor. Not long."_

_"It is already much too long," McCoy murmured, then gasped in pain as Karon dealt with the deep burn in the middle of his chest. It had felt as if the Klingons had wanted to push the painstick down to his bones, and considering how much weight he had already lost, it wasn't far from that. A stroke would have been a welcome thing, but fate didn't grant him that mercy._

_"You we need," Karon said. "Soon, end."_

_"I wish," McCoy said, wincing as the door was torn open and the Klingon guards returned. Any kind of end would be better than what his interrogators would have in store for him._

_Karon tried to talk them into untying McCoy and giving him a little rest, but the Klingons would have none of it. Time was of essence, and McCoy's information would soon be outdated. They sent the young man out and went back to the torture. Only his ingrained stubbornness kept McCoy from screaming right away. They wouldn't get him…bastards! _

_ A resolve that always ended in defeat._

Momentarily dizzy just from the memories that washed over him, McCoy was grateful to find Spock offering him a glass of juice. He took it and sipped from it. "Sorry for drifting," he said roughly. 

"You know that you can tell me everything, Leonard," Spock said softly. "You do not need to filter the truth for me."

"Maybe I need to filter it from myself." McCoy took another sip.

Spock patiently waited until he was ready to resume his story, sitting opposite to him with hands laced on the table. McCoy resolutely decided to get to the point in his memories where he was freed. 

"They did bring on the mindsifter after some time, but lo and behold, they couldn't get a fix on my scattered marbles," McCoy said and darkly grinned over the memory. "Must have had to do with our little katra sharing.

"When the Klingon commander of Rura Penthe, Koroth, fell ill, Karon insisted that I was brought on to the case. He got me out of the cell and I healed the man with Karon's support. They put me back and I thought that was it, but a day later, they let me out. Obviously, they realized I was worth a lot more as a living doctor than as a dead prisoner. Karon took care of me. He'd organized a bunk next to his, had secured my few belongings – including Jim's jacket – and had some medicine set aside for me. Soon I was able to work as a doctor, and I took him under my wing, teaching him as much as possible about the profession. He taught me Klingon medical terms, I taught him the Standard versions." McCoy brushed through his beard with his fingers. "Whatever happens in the future, Spock, I know my Klingon physiology now. By god, I know medical data of races the Federation hasn't even heard of yet!" 

"You may write a sequel to your book about xenomedicine," Spock suggested.

"Yes, maybe." McCoy rubbed over his face and yawned.

"You are exhausted," Spock said. "Please, let me bring you to bed. I will return later for the next installment of your story."

"All right." McCoy instantly gave in. When he went up, Spock was there to stabilize him as he swayed. McCoy clung to the strong shoulders. "You know…it's really a miracle that I'm here now," he whispered, his eyes meeting Spock's.

"Yes," Spock agreed. He could feel McCoy's bones beneath his skin, every rib under his fingertips. So frail, a human's body. And still, McCoy had survived.

"Rest, my friend," Spock repeated and gently put McCoy to bed. He straightened the covers over him, as he did every time. One little thing he could do, where there was quite another need building in him, demanding its rights. It would have to wait. 

"Night, Spock," McCoy said sleepily and was gone seconds later.

"Good night, Leonard," Spock replied quietly and left his quarters for one of the small observation lounges to engage in meditation for two hours. 

*

When McCoy awoke again, Spock had already left for his shift. Spock's side of the bed was untouched, once again, and McCoy felt a sudden, strong sadness. For all the gruesome time on Rura Penthe, it had brought a companionship and nearness to another being that McCoy had never thought he'd be able to enjoy, much less need. When he'd left for the second mine, he'd given that up, and now that he was onboard the Enterprise, Spock's behavior towards him was a strange mixture of invitation and distance. He wasn't sure what the Vulcan had in mind for them. In the past, they had shared two pon farr – one after the challenge, one after the fal-tor-pan – and it had always been clear to both what the deal was about. There had been no thought about and no need for starting a classic relationship. But now, McCoy wasn't sure if he wasn't starting to project something into Spock that the Vulcan would never want to give.

McCoy slid out of bed and went to the bathroom. He returned, still unshowered, and sat down at the table. There were the additional nutrient pills and orange juice to swallow them down, but he decided to order a full breakfast instead. He put on a robe and called the yeoman. She was young, sweet, and slightly nervous around him, but did her job and quickly returned with a tray. Fresh scrambled eggs and bacon were on it, two bagels and a large pot of fresh coffee. When she had left again, he sat down and very slowly ate his meal, focusing on every bite of it. Food was still something marvelous after all the starvation, and he couldn't quite deal yet with the copiousness that ruled onboard the Enterprise, everything he wanted only a call away. 

With his strength slowly returning to him, McCoy started to think about his future, but it was vague. They were still in the middle of a war, though it looked as if the Klingon Empire was soon to lose, with the Federation troops slowly approaching Qonos. Maybe he would be able to resume a half-shift in the medical department. He wanted to be of help, not just a passenger on the Enterprise. With a sigh, he got up and walked to the couch on which Jim's uniform jacket was displayed. He took it in his hands, feeling the fabric, running a forefinger along the large tear that was bathed in blood. A relic for Spock as much as it had been for him and McCoy wasn't sure it had been a good idea to bring it back home, after all. Seeing it made him think of the day he'd lost Jim as clearly as if it had been yesterday, and it still hurt, probably always would. Hadn't he given a lecture to Spock about moving on only a day ago? What a lie.

Trying to force his thoughts back to the present – or even the future – McCoy laid the garment aside and went into the bathroom and took a long hot shower, after which he decided to start returning to normalcy. 

*

Spock called McCoy shortly before lunch, and they agreed to take the meal in his room. When Spock arrived, he was pleasantly surprised to find McCoy's appearance changed; the doctor wore one of his robes and was shaven, the long hair shortened to shoulder length. 

"I thought shaving would be a good idea," McCoy said as he saw Spock's gaze. He ran his forefinger over his slick jaw line. "There's hope my face will look a little bit fuller again over the next weeks," he said. "No flesh on these old bones. That's why I kept the hair for now. Don't want to look like the living dead." A white strand escaped from behind his left ear and fell down, easing the sharp angles. 

Spock drew close, eyeing the no longer hidden face of his friend. "There are scars," he said and gently guided McCoy's face around, taking a closer look at its right side. Three darker lines ran roughly parallel, with a few similar scars scattered around the main pattern. "Do you want to have them removed? I am sure Dr. Miller would be able to."

"Not right now," McCoy said. He brushed over his cheek, feeling the little rugged reminders of the day that changed many things in his life on Rura Penthe. 

_It was roughly one circle after McCoy was able to work as a doctor that one of the hauling shafts collapsed. Karon and he were called to the disaster area and helped in the relief efforts. Nineteen dead prisoners, six badly wounded; ten had only a few scratches. McCoy was busy saving the life of an Andorian whose left arm had been crushed and mostly severed from the shoulder. There was slight green blood everywhere, as he tried to bring the flow under control. His right hand pressed against the artery, he called for Karon to bring him the surgery equipment. Karon placed it next to him on the floor, but before McCoy could grab it, someone shoved it aside with a booted foot. _

_"Enough!" _

_McCoy looked up to face Koroth, the commander of Rura Penthe. _

_"I can save him, but only if you let me!" he stated, unwilling to let himself get intimidated by the towering, broad-shouldered Klingon. _

_"A man with only one arm, what is he good for?" the Klingon snarled. "How long will he need to recover?"_

_"Two weeks, maybe," McCoy said. _

_"Too long," Koroth snapped. "Throw these out," he ordered three men behind him, waving his hand over the six critically wounded prisoners. "They are useless."_

_"You can't do that!" McCoy blurted out, fingers still on the artery. His whole arm was drained in the Andorian's blood, and he clamped his other hand into the Andorian's fur. "They are still alive. I can save them."_

_"But you won't," Koroth growled. With one mighty slap, he pushed McCoy away from his patient. McCoy fell to the ground and whipped up instantly. But of course, Koroth was faster – the next slap delivered right across McCoy's face with the studded and spiked leather glove threw him into the wall, knocking him out of air. The last blow right into McCoy's stomach put him over the edge. He sank to his knees, arms clamped around his chest with a deep groan._

_"Don't do that ever again, or you'll be thrown out with your patients," Koroth snapped. Dazed, McCoy had to watch the Klingon guards carrying the severely wounded away to their certain death. He shook his head, faintly feeling the warmth of his blood running down his cheek. "Koroth!" he started when the commander turned to leave, and went up on one foot again, fighting for his balance. "You bastard! Murderer! Animal!" he spit after him. _

_McCoy was pulled down and taken into a strong embrace that was tight enough to silence him. Above his head, Koroth and Karon fell into a loud, sharp, but very short Klingonese debate. Karon held him down until the steps vanished in the distance, then pulled him into a shady side corridor._

_"Maqoch – why did you do that? He was about to kill you!" Karon hissed at him. McCoy sank to the ground and rolled to the side, arms still around his hurting body. _

_"What does it matter," McCoy whispered. "Dead, alive… nobody cares. At least it would be over then."_

_"I care," Karon said. "I care very much."_

_"Not enough to make me forget everything else," McCoy said, tears stinging in his eyes. He had rarely felt so utterly defeated and beaten. On his face, the warmth of his blood still grew stronger. He reached up with one hand, but it was captured on the way. Gently, Karon touched his face and lifted it up from the ground, wiping the dirt out of the wounds the Klingon commander's studded glove had torn deep into his cheek. McCoy closed his eyes, knowing what would happen. It had been building almost from day one, and while he had had certain encounters with men in the past, none of them had prepared him for this kind of feeling…this mixture of desperation, need, arousal, and pure want of living the young Klingon evoked in him. The alien teeth raked over his wounds, a rough tongue licking the blood away. Karon's low growl resonated in McCoy, and he inhaled deeply, ignoring the pain in his chest. The Klingon covered his face and neck with bites and kisses - McCoy wasn't sure if there was a real difference between the two. Unwilling to make this a one-sided thing, he pushed himself up on one arm and captured the Klingon's head with his free hand. Karon's dark brown eyes met his, and then they kissed on the mouth for the first time. It was a little strange and Karon used a lot more teeth than McCoy was used to, but then the young man eased off and adjusted to human preferences._

_"Let me make you forget, Maqoch," Karon whispered, his hands already under McCoy's fur. McCoy didn't say a word, just stroked the young man's long hair as the Klingon shoved aside the protective layers and opened McCoy's pants. The air was cold and McCoy's half-engorged organ faltered at first, but the Klingon caressed it back to life. He bent down and took it into his mouth. Again, a few too many teeth in the mix for McCoy's taste, but it was good nevertheless. Oh god, he hadn't realized how much he needed to feel his own blood, alive in his veins, the throbbing pulse in his head, the heat that flooded all of his body. He arched, pushing deeper into the offered mouth. Strong hands held his hips, making him aware of Karon's arousing strength, his energy and virility. The young Klingon sucked him off, determined and still gentle, keeping McCoy on the edge for a little while before pushing him into a mind-blowing release. With the human sperm still partly smudged in his face, Karon licked over McCoy's face wound again, mixing the fluids in a strange ritual of brotherhood._

_ McCoy offered to reciprocate, but Karon claimed that he was content for the moment. They left the place of the disaster behind and went back to work, knowing that in the night, they would be able to indulge in more exploration without anyone disturbing them._

_The Andorian's blood on McCoy's uniform sleeves started to smell so strongly that after three days, McCoy gave up and discarded his torn, worn-out uniform. He didn't want to wear Jim's uniform, which he guarded like a relic, so he switched to another jacket instead, a thick, warm, brown thing that bore better under the conditions. _

_It was like the final step for everyone to forget that he was the human McCoy – from there on, he was only Maqoch, Karon's friend and lover._

"Doctor?" Spock asked, placing a warm palm on McCoy's face.

"Just lost in memories for a moment, Spock," McCoy said. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," Spock said and pulled away. "It is time for lunch. I will call the kitchen." He ordered one recommended meal from McCoy's diet card and one vegetarian noodle soup for himself.

They ate in silence, both focused on the food. Finally, McCoy leaned back in his chair and sighed. "People would've killed for a meal like this on Rura Penthe," he said.

Spock nodded in understanding, and ordered two coffees from the kitchen. After they were delivered, he sat down and intently looked at McCoy. "May I ask a question? Although it may shortcut your current flow of narration." 

"Sure, go ahead," McCoy said and stirred in his coffee to dissolve the sugar. 

"I am curious. I understand that you had a life comfortable enough to survive for more than two years in the main mine." 

McCoy nodded.

"How did you end up in the other mine?" Spock asked. 

McCoy took a deep breath. "There'd been rumors about the second mine for a while, but nobody knew anything specific. Until the day I was pulled out and sent there for two days, to check on the prisoners. It was unbelievable, Spock. They couldn't have gotten much dilithium out of that mine; it was foremost an extermination camp. There were POWs, from all over the Federation, and they were dying. Beaten, tortured, starved to death. It was one of the most brutal things I ever saw in my life. I stayed there for two days and did what I could to help them, but it was very little. They had transferred the most sadistic guards from the first mine to the second, and let them run with whatever they had in mind with the poor folks. The POWs were like a beaten bunch of cattle waiting for slaughter. It tore me apart to see them. Afterwards, I decided I wanted to come back and stay with them. To use my position to alleviate their situation. To do whatever I could to make their dying at least… less painful.

"Karon objected. Oh god, how he debated with me. He was so angry, and so desperate." McCoy's eyes glittered. "He didn't understand why I was willing to go down to a certain death when I could stay with him instead, in the relatively comfortable position we had managed to achieve. He asked me why, if they were my people and I felt so connected to them, I hadn't told them who I was. Nobody realized it was me; my looks and language had changed so much, I was simply Maqoch to everyone, and I hadn't told them the truth. I don't know why. Maybe Karon was right and I wanted to keep a distance – but I failed, Spock. They were my people; fellow comrades in the same 'Fleet. I had to go to them.

"We didn't parted on good terms. It was terrible for me to leave like that, with not a word from him, no good-bye. I loved him, but I couldn't close my eyes to my duties…as a man, as a commander – as a former CMO. It would be my downfall, but I had to try, even if the price was my own life."

"At first, Koroth didn't want to let me go either, but I insisted. And finally he gave in. I was sent to the second mine, with the clear message that I wouldn't ever be able to return to the first one. Not that I expected to."

McCoy took a sip from the coffee that had grown cold and bitter over his story. "I didn't regret my choice, most of the time. I could be of some help, little was it was. Managed to improve some of the conditions. The guards were largely keeping away from me, even though they didn't exactly treat me like in the other camp. I had a reputation; they didn't feel like fiddling with me as long as I didn't get into their way. Which I did at times, and paid for that. The POWs were surprised about my return, but didn't question me a lot. The Klingons didn't want me to divulge my identity, because they feared I'd become a hero for the POWs. So I ran as “Maqoch” with everyone. Only Pori ever realized who I really was." 

He took another sip. "I couldn't do much to help…basically, everyone was slowly dying. But at one time, I managed to start a little hunger strike that made them increase the rations again. About my only little heroic moment."

_It was maybe a circle after his arrival in the second mine. McCoy moved with the line that waited for food, his bowl in hand. The rations given to the people in front of him were rather small, in his opinion. When he offered his bowl, the Klingon guard behind the server whispered something, and McCoy received a full portion. He moved on, an eye on the man behind him. Again – only a half ration for the other one. McCoy halted his step. _

_"What are you doing?" he asked loudly in the pidgin Klingon of Rura Penthe. "Everyone's put on half rations?" He pointed at the bowls of the men right and left of him._

_"Not you, Maqoch," the Klingon snarled. "So what do you care?" _

_"I care for everyone here," McCoy stated sharply. "And they won't survive with half rations." People around them started to understand what was going on, and gathered at the food table. "These people need more food."_

_"Shut up and eat your meal," the Klingon ordered._

_"I won't," McCoy said and poured his soup into the bowl of the men next to him. "I won't eat anything until we all get enough to survive."_

_"Fool!" The Klingon called more guards, and they took McCoy to the office of Kreita, the commander of the second mine. _

_"He caused trouble." They pushed McCoy to his knees in front of the large, broad-shouldered Klingon. Kreita had a reputation for sadism and McCoy wondered if this was the day he'd find out the true scope of it._

_"You can't give them only half rations, sir," McCoy stated. "That will kill them!" _

_"What does it matter?" the Klingon said._

_"Your mine won't be productive if you do that." _

_The Klingon shrugged. _

_"I won't eat until you go back to normal rations," McCoy stated. _

_Kreita eyed him. "I exempted you from the decreased rations. Why do you complain?"_

_"They are my comrades. Their fate is my fate."_

_Kreita waved his hand. "Bring me his bowl, with food." Then he said, eyes on McCoy, "Your fate will be worse if you don't obey me, old man."_

_"I won't," McCoy said. He expected the blow that sent him to the ground. They held him down on his back, one of them closing his nose so that McCoy couldn't help opening his mouth to breathe. Kreita stood above him and took the bowl, then slowly poured the soup into the opening. McCoy coughed and shook his head, trying to get the fluid out. It streamed down his cheeks and chin, bathing the floor. _

_"Bastard!" McCoy pressed out._

_"Let's do it the right way then," the Klingon ordered. McCoy was dragged to a nearby cell, stripped, placed on a bed and tied to it spread-eagled. "The steel gag," Kreita said. They forced McCoy's teeth open to insert the gag that would keep him from closing his mouth. "Now the tube!" _

_Tears stung in McCoy's eyes as they forced a rubber tube down his throat without caring about damage; then Kreita poured the soup through it. "Now we will see that you eat," Kreita said, laughing in his face._

_McCoy felt like vomiting, but he knew that, with the gag in place, it might kill him. The feeding went on for a while, then they left him, with the gag and tube still in place. He was kept like that for maybe two days. With his body forced in this uncomfortable position, he was soon subjected to severe cramps, but his captors did nothing to ease that. He was fed every few hours, as if he was an animal, and then left alone again in his growing agony. _

_When they finally removed the tube and the gag and untied his limbs, he was barely able to walk. They dragged him down to the main hall, where they shoved him into the midst of some waiting prisoners._

_"Maqoch!" Pori said and gently led McCoy down to the ground. Others gathered around them, touching McCoy's body as if to assure themselves that he was still alive. "You've won." _

_"Won?" McCoy whispered, his vocal chords chaffed from the tube. Winning feels a lot different, he thought warily._

_"Everyone joined the hunger strike. We fought for normal rations and that you would be freed again. They threatened us, beat us, force-fed some of us, but finally they had to give in. We were just too many for them to deal with. And it was your example that gave us the strength for that. Thank you."_

_Too exhausted to speak, McCoy briefly nodded and closed his eyes. They cared for him and he soon was able to work again…but never had he missed Karon more than in this painful time._

The intercom whistled, disturbing the moment of reflection and announcing to Spock that he was wanted on the bridge. McCoy waved him off. "You've got a ship to run," he said. "See you later." 

Spock left. 

*

When the Vulcan returned much later in the evening, he found McCoy already in bed, the slim figure covered by a blanket only, revealing the angular, bony body. The light was low, and Spock quietly stripped out of uniform, then, in a second thought, stripped out of his underwear too and went to the shower. Once he was refreshed, he went back to the main room. The man on the bed had moved and was now laying slightly sprawled on his back, eyes resting on Spock.

"You're looking good," McCoy said sleepily. "Alive."

"I am alive because of you and Jim," Spock said and drew close, going down on one knee next to the bed. He met McCoy's gaze as he captured his left hand. "It was a gift I could never repay. Instead, I was the cause of your doom again." 

"Bullshit, Spock." McCoy lifted their joined hands and grazed his forefinger over Spock's chin. "Come to bed." Without a second thought, Spock spooned him and placed his hand around McCoy's chest, pulling him closer. 

"I'm so glad you're here," McCoy whispered. "It feels like home."

"This will be home for us both, if you want it," Spock replied quietly. 

"I'm not sure what I want. What you want. What's best for us." McCoy's fingertips drew lines on Spock's hand.

"I was so lonely, Spock. I had forgotten how lonely I'd been without Karon. I missed him so much. I missed everything; the talking, the companionship…and the sex."

Spock cradled McCoy from behind, understanding that his friend didn't want to make this confession eye to eye.

"And now that I'm here with you, I'm not sure it's a good idea what we're doing. What you're doing, Spock."

"What am I doing, doctor?"

"Holding me as if…"

"Maybe I want to," Spock said quietly.

"I don't want pity sex, Spock. Not from you. Not from anyone."

"When you came to me in the past, did you come because you pitied me?"

"Of course not, Spock. I came because I was your doctor and your friend." McCoy's hand covered Spock's. "But the emotions involved were clear, and I could deal with them. This here…it's different. Our relationship is different."

"Maybe I want it to be different, Leonard," Spock whispered. "I want you, in ways I have not wanted you before. I need you; being with you has become something more important the longer you were away."

"We're in an exceptional situation, Spock. We're not level-headed."

"I burn, Leonard. Not the burning of Pon farr, which always feels to me as if an external force is taking me over and turning me into something I cannot recognize. I burn for thee in a deep, emotional need." Spock placed his lips on McCoy's shoulder and kissed the rough skin. Between his legs, the sexual arousal he had been able to control for the last days won over his control and his penis filled with blood. It enlarged, touching the human's buttocks.

McCoy's breathing accelerated, and there was a slight pressure back against Spock's erection. The Vulcan took this as encouragement; caressing the human's chest in soft strokes, he slipped the erection deeper into the cleft, slowly rubbing along it, suggesting copulation. It was answered by a deep sigh from his partner and, becoming more bold, Spock slipped his right hand down McCoy's front to his groin. A detectable erection was to be felt; it quivered and grew in his hold as he closed his fingers around it. 

"Spock…oh Spock." McCoy pressed back with ardor and folded his right leg, lifting the knee in front of him parallel to the bed. It allowed Spock to come closer to the presumed goal. His erection became slippery as his body involuntarily released some droplets of pre-cum. Something that had never happened in any pon farr. Nevertheless, lubrication would be necessary. He tried to reach for the body lotion that stood on the other side of the bed, on McCoy's nightstand. McCoy caught his hand.

"You won't need that. Go on," McCoy urged him. "You won't hurt me. I'm used to it." 

"Leonard… I do not think it is sensible…" 

"I'm the doctor. Go on, Spock." McCoy pressed back at him, and Spock gave in. He reached down to his large, full penis and placed it at the right point of entry – then he slowly pushed.

As predicted, McCoy's body was open and welcoming him. Spock could slip in to the hilt without effort. He halted when he reached the end.

"Told you it would work," McCoy murmured. "Klingons have ridges; believe me, you won't hurt me."

Spock clamped his hand on McCoy's upper leg. The human's body heat was unbelievable, and the situation was quickly slipping out of Spock's control. A strange mixture of feelings flooded him, especially regarding the unknown Karon; thankfulness for having been crucial in McCoy's survival, but also jealousy for having been the man invited into McCoy's life, bed and body in a way Spock had never been in the past. To think that McCoy had lain like this for years with the other man was both arousing and challenging. There was a deep urge that propelled Spock forward, demanding that his body act. To take the man in his arms and envelope him so completely that they would both forget about Karon, to merge body and.... 

"Leonard…I want to meld with you."

"I know," McCoy said muffled. 

"I apologize –"

"Just get on with it."

Spock was surprised, remembering all too well that McCoy had never been in favor of melds. But obviously they both wanted this, wanted to succumb to this need that burned in them and between them. He placed his fingers on the melding points of McCoy's face, finding more bones than flesh, slippery skin that shifted away under his pressure. The nerve spots finally caught under his fingertips, Spock engaged in the first steps of the meld.

"My mind to your mind…"

_"…my thoughts to your thoughts…"_ came an answering reply, an unusually strong resonance from McCoy. Effortlessly, their minds linked. 

_Wanted it too...so lonely_, McCoy's mind said, before Spock tumbled into the dark. 

Dark corridors, dark taverns; dark clothes, and the bleak of death. Red blood on the ground. Distant screams. Pain, so much pain…

_Get out of there_, McCoy's thoughts blurted, and shoved Spock's perception to another corner. There was need, arousal – sex. In hidden corners, in the quiet of the night – as quiet as Rura Penthe was, with the beds full of people who sneezed and coughed and even sent their last breath into the sleeping halls - two men united, sharing a moment of love away from the eyes of everyone else, finding a brief resort of comfort and love in midst of their brutal life.

What was he, Spock, really doing here, the Vulcan suddenly wondered. 

_We're both using each other, if you want to call it that_, McCoy thought. Then a profound feeling of sadness flooded their connection. _Missed you…missed Jim. So alone. So desperate... _

_So much loss_, Spock thought. And so much emotion. He slowly pulled out of the meld, realizing that he couldn't deal with all the impact at once. He was still lying behind McCoy, deeply buried into the body in front of him. They still wanted it. McCoy still wanted it, although there was a slight doubt, a whispered, "Spock, everything okay?"

"Yes," Spock whispered. He took a deep breath, focusing back on his body instead of his mind. Then he pressed forward. McCoy's head sank back, a gasp in the motion's wake. "Yes, Spock."

Spock changed his hold on McCoy's leg and reached around to lift it higher. It allowed for more movement, and he gathered speed. So warm, so welcoming. Nothing compared to the few copulations they had engaged in the past, of which Spock mostly remembered that McCoy had been reluctant and so tight that Spock had needed to hold back most of his impulse, which was hard in bouts of pon farr. This time he was welcome, oh so welcome, and he propelled them forward, his lips kissing the human's ear, his tongue licking the salty sweat that appeared on the neck. He felt McCoy reaching for his own organ and joining the rhythm. 

Much too fast, they tumbled into the abyss of release, but it was not the explosive fire Spock knew from pon farr, nor the brief, cool collapse that humans usually showed. It rose like an earthquake lifting the ground, an unstoppable, endlessly powerful wave that took them and carried them with it. They rode the wave together, for a minute, another one; Spock lost track as the joined orgasms seemed to amplify and strengthen and gather even more speed and momentum. Their whole selves seemed to be carried along in the flood, not only body, not only soul, something beyond it, something stellar and universal and very old. It carried them out into a deep blue world and finally spit them out, allowing them to resurface to the real world – if there was any. 

"Incredible," McCoy's voice reached Spock's ear. 

Spock opened his eyes. He released the tight hold he still had on McCoy's leg and wanted to pull out, but McCoy's hand reached around and stopped him. "No, keep it there if you don't mind. Love the feel of staying together for a while afterwards."

"I do not mind," Spock said softly. "However, I would like to see your face."

McCoy's hand rubbed over Spock's hip, stroking him gently. "Okay. Gimme just a few more minutes."

Spock caressed McCoy's chest in return, and they remained in the position until Spock's deflating organ slipped out by its own soft weight. Spock took that as sign that the waiting was over, and pulled McCoy around to face him.

"Thank you," McCoy said earnestly. "Thanks so much, Spock." He leaned forward and kissed Spock – something they had never done in the past, and it took Spock by surprise for a moment. Then he joined in and soon explored the warm mouth. Their tongues sparred, and Spock felt a renewed arousal creeping up his legs like a million ants, collecting in his groin. 

"It never felt like that with you before," McCoy said with very bright blue eyes when their lips separated. 

"I agree."

"What's the difference?" McCoy asked.

"There are many possible reasons…" Spock said, for once unwilling to over-analyze the situation. It was unique; it was probably fleeting. And he didn't want it to end yet.

He crouched on his knees and gently directed his friend on his back, then started to massage and kiss all of the slim, famished body. Spock cherished every little area of skin; kneaded the feet, pulling the toes; kissed along the lower legs up to the knees and down again; massaged the hip and chest with loving, tender strokes. Finally he crouched over McCoy and kissed him again on the mouth, taking the lead in their joining. Between their bodies, two renewed erections rubbed against each other. Spock settled back on his heels over McCoy's body, gently stroking their organs with his hands.

"Usually I don't recover so fast," McCoy said with a light frown in his face as he watched Spock's action. "You're sure you're not in pon farr?"

"How does it feel to you?" Spock asked back. McCoy had been his companion twice in that situation; he might know better than Spock himself.

McCoy listened into himself, but finally shook his head. "No, it's not pon farr. There's a lot of…need. Want. Desire. But not pon farr."

"Good. I do not want this to be a hormonal disturbance," Spock said, his eyelids flickering as the stroking had a profound effect on his aroused body. He ceased it for a moment.

"We are disturbed, Spock." McCoy chuckled. "We are not within our right minds, my Vulcan friend."

"Not friend. Lover," Spock said.

"My lover," McCoy agreed. "At least for tonight."

"There is no tomorrow," Spock said, exhilarated beyond what he had thought possible in his life. McCoy, alive, here in this bed, and himself, not in the throes of spores or other means, but all himself and wanted and wanting, parted and never parted…

"Illogical," McCoy whispered, but stopped speaking when Spock bent down and tongued his straining erection, before swallowing it all the way.

*

The morning found them in bed, satiated and relaxed. Spock was once again spooning McCoy, one arm possessively draped over the human's chest, enjoying the heart beat that he could feel under his hand like a distant drumming. He took in the warm body, smelled the various unusual odors coming from them both – although they had taken a shower sometime in the night – and was as content as he had ever been in his life. 

Nevertheless, he knew that if he wanted to go to his shift, this would be the time. The need of the night seemed burned out, substituted by a tenderness and compassion that filled him and would accompany him through the day; but there was a ship waiting for him, and still a war to end. 

"You wanna leave?" McCoy's voice sounded gently. Spock lifted his arm, and McCoy turned around, facing him. 

"Yes. I feel…restored to my usual self."

McCoy smiled and ran his hand over Spock's face. "Yes, I'd say you're pretty much back to normal… after this unusual night." His forefinger glided over Spock's lips, and the Vulcan captured it and sucked it in.

"Well, almost." McCoy chuckled, then sighed deeply as Spock proceeded with his ministrations. 

Once the finger was out of the way, they kissed for real.

"You know what?" McCoy stated and slipped out of bed. "Let's see what my little machine says." He took the Klingon medical tricorder from the table and returned, waving it over Spock. 

"Just dandy," he said after a brief look at the results. "You're ready for another great day as captain of the Enterprise."

Spock nodded, but found that he couldn't really concentrate on the idea of working right now – his eyes fixed on McCoy's hands, he remembered how the skilled fingers had stimulated him only two point three hours ago, gently and yet firm, with just the right pressure in the right moments. Were they that much in tune already, or did McCoy simply know how to read his cues…or was a Vulcan's curve of arousal so similar to a Klingon's? Spock frowned slightly, trying to suppress that last dishonorable thought. There had been no indication that McCoy had thought of anyone but him last night. And even if he had, that was to be expected - and none of Spock's business. 

"Any problem?" McCoy asked, and Spock looked up from the hands. The human's face was creased in concern, a question in the blue eyes. 

"I want you," Spock stated, surprised about his own words as they left his mouth.

McCoy raised a brow. "Not sure having sex now is a good idea for your hormonal levels."

"No, Leonard. I want you. With all of my Vulcan soul. I want to own you, and banish any thought and memory of anyone else from your mind."

"Ah." McCoy's eyes turned down to the screen of the Klingon tricorder in his hands. "That's a bit much to ask, Spock. Even though it's been an unbelievable night."

"I know." Spock quickly slipped out of bed. "I did not want to impose my needs upon you. I apologize for my loss of control." 

McCoy's gaze flitted over him and skidded away again. "No, it's okay. In the past, I'd have been happy to know I was the reason for making your control slip," he added, shedding a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I will take another shower and ready myself for my shift." Spock left for the bathroom, strongly annoyed that he had said such unforgivable words. Owning was not a word to be used with a man like McCoy, especially not in such a situation. How could he expect McCoy to forget the person that had saved his life and probably his mental health on Rura Penthe? Arrogance and jealousy, two negative emotions let lose like beasts from a chain, and just as readily playing havoc. He sat down on the sole chair and buried his face in his hands, taking three deep breaths. Meditation was called for, but he had no time for that.

"I think I'll withdraw my first opinion."

Spock looked up to face McCoy, lingering in the bathroom door. 

"I think you're not quite ready for duty yet, captain." McCoy drew close and went down to his knees in front of Spock.

"Please –" Spock said dismissively as McCoy gently guided his legs apart. "I insulted you. And him. Do not -"

"He would understand," McCoy said, one hand already on Spock's growing erection. "And maybe I like being owned." Spock closed his eyes as McCoy bent forward and took the blooming hard-on in his mouth. 

*

They had just left the bathroom, freshly cleaned, when the intercom beeped.

"T'Vei to the captain," the doctor's voice came over the speaker. When Spock answered the call, she asked, "Is Doctor McCoy with you?" 

"Yes, he is."

"Please report to sickbay together. There is a medical issue that we need to speak about."

"Can it not wait until the end of my shift?" Spock asked.

"No sir. In fact, you are temporarily on sick leave. Please report to sickbay immediately."

Spock's face was drawn into a frown, but he only said, "Of course, doctor," and switched off the line.

McCoy eyed the small medical bracelet at his wrist. "I guess the sensors picked up our nightly activity."

"This is likely. However, I do not see a reason why that should interfere with my command abilities," Spock stated. 

They quickly dressed and went to sickbay together. It was largely empty, as most rescued prisoners could be moved to normal quarters. T'Vei and Miller greeted them, and the woman led them into her office. They took the offered seats, and the docter took her place directly opposite them, without a desk in between.

"Forgive me my intrusion into your privacy, but Doctor Miller and I could not ignore the data that was delivered from Doctor McCoy's medical transponder," T'Vei said. 

"You set me on medical leave," Spock asked. "May I inquire why?"

"I wanted to assess your state first. You have participated in intimacies?" 

"Yes," Spock conceded. There was no way around a healer's questions in Vulcan culture, and also no way around a Starfleet medical officer assessing the captain's state. 

"If I may…" she said and lifted her hand, her fingers in the meld position. 

"If it's got to be," McCoy said, shedding a gaze at Spock who sat at his side rather frozen. The healer started with McCoy. It was a quick, cursory meld, and she quickly moved on to Spock. Finally, she sat back into her chair. 

"You are very much attuned. Your connection is similar to a bond between children," T'Vei said. "More than a betrothal, less than a bonding."

"A bond? Spock?" McCoy turned to the Vulcan. 

"I did not foster a bond," Spock said defensively. At least he was rather certain that he had not done so deliberately. However…

"Your connection is something unique," T'Vei said calmly. "Sharing two pon farr without bonding was only possible due to your divergent biological heritages. Statistically it is much more normal that you now appear to start bonding spontaneously in your combined emotional relief over Doctor McCoy's return."

"Emotional relief…how true," McCoy murmured. 

"How does she know about our shared experiences?" Spock asked, and stared at McCoy. "You put it into our medical files?" 

"Of course, Spock," McCoy said. "I'm your doctor, and the first time happened in the course of duty. But I put it into the damnest little corner, and with the Vulcan word for it. No human would've known what it meant."

"I am no human," T'Vei stated the obvious. She folded her hands. "Captain, Doctor - there is a 78.6 % chance that your connection will become a full bonding if you resume sexual activity. It is important to consider this step very carefully. Given your history with the katra transfer and the shared pon farr, the chances for a successful future dissolving of the bond are minimal."

"You mean, if we bond, we're stuck together forever," McCoy rephrased. 

"Yes."

The men accepted the news. There would be time for discussion later, in their quarters…but not here.

"Noted," Spock said formally. "Am I cleared for duty now?" 

T'Vei tilted her head. "I will check you both for any side effects. If the results are negative, you will be free to resume your post, captain." 

They all went into the main sickbay, where the healer first checked the captain. All data was within normal range, and Spock quickly left for the bridge. McCoy's data was normal compared to the nightly data, but also showed his still weakened state. T'Vei recommended a few additional shots and half an hour in a recreational energy field, and McCoy agreed. He soon dozed off in the comfortable chair, and they let him sleep until he woke up on his own. 

Afterwards, he felt energetic enough to walk a bit through the ship. A few people greeted him, but most only gave this stranger a small nod in passing. It was fine by him. 

When McCoy walked into the recreation room, he instantly spotted the small group of survivors – even in new clothes and with shortened hair and shaved faces, the unusually slim figures stood out from the usual Enterprise crewmembers. He walked to their table and greeted the three men and two women.

"Hello Captain Pori," he said and shook hand with the man who'd been his foremost liaison to the POWs.

"Doctor McCoy – please, take a seat," Pori said. 

A young lieutenant brought another chair, and McCoy sat down next to Pori. The captain poured him a drink.

"Only juice," Pori said with a twinkle. 

"A pity," McCoy said. "It's been ages since I had a good drink." He raised the glass, and everyone followed his lead. "To absent friends," he said.

"To absent friends," everyone repeated, lifting their glasses. McCoy downed the glass and took a second one. 

"You're looking a lot better today than last time I saw you," Pori said. 

"Thank you. Even though I can't quite remember when that was," McCoy said. 

"When Captain Spock took you out of sickbay," Pori replied.

"Ah, yes." McCoy whirled his glass.

"Where do you stay? You aren't on the third level with us, are you?" one of the women asked. She was young and had been an engineer rather fresh from the academy before her imprisonment. McCoy faintly remembered her name. "No, I still co-habit in the captain's cabin, Lieutenant Roley." When he saw the slightly strange gazes passed around, he added, "We had a lot to talk about." _We do exactly what you wonder about_, he thought amused. And it was a strange, unreal thought. 

"I know you're old friends," Pori said.

"I'm curious, Doctor McCoy – why didn't you reveal your identity to us?" Roley chimed in again. "Came to us playing an alien fool… what kind of subterfuge was that?"

McCoy looked at her. There was trouble coming, and it took him somewhat unexpectedly. But on the other hand…

"I admit that I'm curious too," an older man next to her stated. Namarra, also from engineering. He'd been chief engineer on a smaller cruiser. "Why did you get transferred to our mine? I've heard you had a good life on the other side."

"You did?" McCoy asked with a rising brow.

"Yes, we've talked to Til'ala. You worked as a doctor. Seems you didn't have much trouble surviving for more than two years."

McCoy whirled the liquid in his cup around again, wondering what to say. "The conditions in the first mine weren't comparable to yours," he said evasively. "It was a prison camp, and they actually needed its output. Your camp was more of a death camp than anything else."

"So why did you get transferred? Did you fall out of favor?" Namarra asked bitingly. 

"I wanted to get transferred," McCoy said. 

"Why? It's not as if you've been of much help. People kept dying anyway."

"Stop it, Namarra," Pori stated annoyed. "You know that nobody could do anything about that. But McCoy did as much as he could, helped some of us to survive and others to die at least in peace."

"Yeah, the great Maqoch," Namarra said bitterly. "Even the Klingons treated him differently. What did you do to achieve that?"

"I just did my job as a doctor," McCoy said.

"Did you treat them too?" 

"I treated everyone to the best of my abilities and available means."

"Then why didn't you just kill some of them when you could? Sabotage their work? You had enough time, didn't you?"

Another of the men chimed in, with an apologetic gaze at McCoy. "Who told you he didn't try something like that?" 

"Thanks for the try," McCoy said, "but Namarra is right. I never did something like that. What good would it have done? I was the convicted killer of the Klingon Chancellor trying to clean his slate by doing something better – saving lives!" McCoy felt his anger slowly rising. It might be better to leave the room, but he didn't want to make it look as if he couldn't stand the discussion. 

"You hooked up with the enemy to save your skin," Namarra said sharply. "And then you played an alien to everyone, even to us."

"Namarra!" Pori snapped, but McCoy waved the captain off. 

"I guess that's basically a true assessment," McCoy said. 

Namarra stared at him, "That's all you've got to say about it?" 

McCoy leaned back, all eyes resting on him, the faces torn between weary and hostile. He shook his head. "You're not the ones I've got to explain my actions to. I'm sure there will be enough hearings for all of us." 

He looked around, taking in their expressions. Memories overshadowed the present; their faces, as he had seen them first in the second mine, won over and the past crept into his vision.

_He had known extermination camps only from reports and pictures, but never for real. Everyone looked like the living dead - starved, often feverish and sick shadows of the men and women they had been. In the declared daytime, forced to work fifteen hours in the mines. In the night, forced to sleep a hundred in a room that had really only space for twenty, on the naked, cold, ground. Every morning there were frozen figures that didn't get up again. _

_There wasn't much McCoy could do for the suffering people, the Klingons saw to that. He had a special position; they didn't want him to sleep in the room with the others, but had given him an 'office'. At least, that's what they called it, with a spiteful grin. It was the room where they collected the dying and dead, a tomb of decay. The dead were carried outside every evening, by a group of prisoners condemned to the job. And every day, more of them died, and there was little McCoy could do to prevent the people from getting killed by the cold, the illnesses and Klingon brutality. Most often McCoy's last duty was to hold the hand of a dying kid, fresh out of the academy, and speak soft, gentle words of hope all the while knowing that the last breath was only seconds away. But everyone died, sturdy man or tough woman, and the illnesses spread with the lice that grew in the almost purely human group. In the other mine, the many alien races had actually led to a better health situation regarding infections, as illnesses rarely were trans-racial. But in the second mine, amoebic dysentery was spreading and McCoy was helpless, as the Klingons didn't give him the necessary medicine for treatment._

_Every week, everyone had to strip and take a shower under the surveillance of Klingon guards and McCoy, and those who weren't fit enough to do that on their own were instantly pulled out and killed. Other potentially ill prisoners were pushed in front of McCoy and he was forced to assess their fitness. He knew that the verdict "unfit for work" was a death sentence, so he lied through his teeth as much as he could. The Klingons weren't stupid, however, and in the outright obvious cases, McCoy didn't have a chance to save the person. He hated the position he was forced in – he hadn't considered that he'd be misused like this. _

_But even worse than shower days were the days with new arrivals, although Pori told him they had gotten much less since the war started to turn against the Klingons. New arrivals were forced to strip and their uniforms torn and spit on, then they had to stand in lines in the cold, hands on their head for a first check. The Klingons left them waiting like that for hours before anything happened; only then was McCoy allowed to walk through the lines. Usually, the unfit had by then already collapsed from the cold or from the dehydration they had suffered on the transport; as brutal as it was, it spared McCoy from deciding their fate. The others were given thin, rough clothes and the obligatory fur mantles. Nobody bothered to give the POWs fur boots like McCoy had, instead of the thin Starfleet issued ones. Frostbite was common. And on really bad days, the commander came down from his residence and selected one or two good-looking – by his standard – women or even men and took them up for his fun. They weren't ever seen again after that._

_The situation went downhill all the time, and McCoy wondered if a mass execution and exodus would soon take place, as the Klingons seemed overly nervous and agitated. There was much activity on the upper level, and his suspicions were confirmed when he was called into the commander's office. _

_"We're leaving," the man spit out. "You come with us, Maqoch."_

_"Is that an order?" McCoy asked._

_"Only a fool would say no to this offer," Kreita said. _

_"Then I'm a fool," McCoy replied solemnly. "I don't want to leave with you." _

_Kreita laughed darkly. "They will all die." _

_"You'll see to that?"_

_"Yes. It's the last order from Qo'nos."_

_McCoy stared him right in the eyes. "You could misinterpret it. Or a little technical glitch may happen and leave a way to escape." _

_"It's an order I have longed to fulfill for a long time, Maqoch. None of them will leave this mine alive. But you – I give you the chance to be spared!" Kreita slammed his hand on the table. "Don't be stupid. Don't try to be a hero, old man." _

_"I never tried."_

_"Liar. The food…you made them fight. Something I feared all along. I'm glad you didn't come over earlier. We would have had to kill you."_

_"So let me go back and you'll get rid of me," McCoy said, tired of this discussion. _

_"So you really want to die with them?" Kreita asked. "I thought you were clever. Didn't you save your life in the mine by bedding a Klingon? Come with me, and I'm sure we'll find other sexy boys for you."_

_"Fuck off," McCoy snapped, accepting the Klingon's instant slap in his face with ice-cold control. _

_"You are a fool." Kreita waved his men. "Bring him down again!"_

_Two of the men brought him down the long metal stairway. They lifted it up after him. His eyes followed it as Pori joined his side. "They're leaving, Maqoch?" _

_"Yes," McCoy said._

_"And they're making sure we won't get out?"_

_"Yes." McCoy nodded slowly. _

_"Did they ask you to go with them?" Pori mused._

_"Yes."_

_"You should've done that. You have no reason to stay –"_

_McCoy frowned at him. "That's not your business, Pori." Eyes drifting up to the top of the hall, he added thoughtfully, "I've lived a lot longer than anyone would've thought. And we're not dead yet." But he knew they were as good as, because none of them was Jim Kirk with an ace in his sleeve and a great idea in the back of his mind…and there was no Enterprise that would come and get them in time. _

_In the distance, there was the roar of an explosion, followed by a ground-moving tremble. _

_"They sealed the entry to the mines?" Pori asked, face paling. _

_"Obviously," McCoy said. He turned towards the corridor, walking between the men and women who slowly registered what had happened and what that meant for their existence. Horror and panic sharpened the angular lines that the hunger had cut into their faces. He closed himself against the emotions that were flaring around him and quickened his steps. Useless, he thought. The only thing they could do was to live long enough to be rescued by the probably approaching Fleet ships. He was the one to bring up the dreaded word 'cannibalism' in the crisis meeting, because it was a logical solution. They all stared at him as if he were an alien. _

_"You can't mean it," Pori said. "Are you going to do that?" _

_"No," McCoy admitted. "But I wouldn't want to be the one to keep anyone from making his or her own decision." He went up from the stone floor and stretched his hurting body. "I'll be in my office, with the dead." _

_He hadn't ever really belonged to the POWs, he realized at last. Somewhere in the past years, he'd taken a step back from his past and had become Maqoch, a man who had learned to play along with the unwritten rules of Rura Penthe to survive. Jim would've been proud of him, even if he didn't make it home in the end. But if he were to die, he only wanted the memories of his friends to be his companions, not these people who shared nothing with him but the same tattered uniform. He huddled himself into a corner of his office, emotionlessly estimating how long it would take him to die. _

_But against all odds, the Enterprise had arrived, and Spock with her…_

He was torn out of his memories by Namarra's voice, "Doctor, I want an answer!" The words were overly shrill in his ears. He looked at the man, who had little in common with the half-dying figure McCoy had seen last, but before he could say anything, someone else jumped in.

"It's unbelievable. How dare you insult Doctor McCoy like that, after what he suffered through on Rura Penthe – for Starfleet and for you!" 

The speaker was one of the younger nurses; she's had been in McCoy's department for only three months before his conviction. McCoy went up. "Nurse Chi, please –" he said and put his hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down, but she would have none of it. She leaned over the table, and her voice attracted more of the Enterprise's crewmembers in the recreation room, who had already given more than one ear to the discussion. 

"How dare you! Didn't you read the note on Captain Kirk's death? Can't you imagine how Doctor McCoy must have felt after that? And didn't he get transferred to your death camp at his own request, almost dying with you in the attempt to help you? If it hadn't been for the captain desperately looking for his friends, none of you would've been found! Nobody knew of that camp. You all would have been dead."

"Enough, nurse," McCoy ordered. "Please," he added gently. "I can fight my own fights."

"I'm sure you can, sir," she said and turned her face to him. "But I found it was high time that someone told these folks off. They're spreading some bad rumors about you, and while I'm sure you see no reason to deal with any of that, I've had enough of them." She glared at the seated rescued round.

"If you want to insult an officer of the Enterprise, you better do that on another ship," she sniped. The handful of crewmembers that had gathered around the table by now nodded in agreement, deepening frowns on their faces. 

"Please," McCoy said, spreading his hands as he turned to the Enterprise personnel. "I'm moved by your intervention, but there's no reason to be so hostile to our comrades. Rura Penthe has been hard on us all, and we're just starting to deal with it."

"I agree," Pori said. "And I apologize for what's been said." He glared at Namarra, but the engineer only pressed his lips together. The atmosphere was loaded, when the recreation room door opened and Spock walked in.

Everyone straightened as the Vulcan assessed the situation with a serene gaze. "Any particular reason for this gathering?" he asked. 

"No, sir," several crewmembers replied. "We're just on our way." The crowd dispersed and most of the men and women passed the captain to leave the room. Spock's gaze briefly turned after them, then he looked back at the table. 

"Captain Pori, we have finally received official orders from Starfleet Headquarters regarding the future of the rescued POWs and the other prisoners. A briefing will be held for all at 1500 in the mess hall. Please relate this news to all of your comrades." 

Pori nodded. 

"Doctor McCoy, would you please join me for lunch?" Spock said.

McCoy was anything but hungry, but it was an agreeable excuse to leave this room. "Sure, Captain," he said. "Goodbye, everyone," he said to the people at the table, and left with Spock. 

When they were in the corridor, Spock shed him a gaze. "I originally wanted to eat in the mess, but considering the latest situation, I think my quarters are preferable."

"I agree," McCoy said, suddenly rather tired as the adrenaline flow ebbed.

In Spock's quarters, McCoy sank down on the bed and buried his face in his hands. "Damn," he whispered.

"What incited the discussion?" Spock asked.

"Can we order first and discuss later?" McCoy said tiredly. 

Spock turned around and sent their orders to the kitchen, selecting a meal for McCoy without asking. McCoy didn't care – all food was perfect to him after the mines. 

McCoy looked up when the bed moved. Spock sat down behind him, and massaged his shoulders. A wave of concern lay in the touch. 

"Will you answer my question now?" Spock said.

McCoy sighed. He should've known Spock wouldn't give up. "I'm not quite sure. I think Namarra asked me why I didn't disclose my identity to them."

"Did they not accept your explanation?" 

"I never got to that. He told me that they'd heard from the prisoners of the first mine that I had a 'good life' there." McCoy sighed again. "Well, compared to the second mine, it was heaven. Compared to everything else…still hell." He leaned back, and Spock took him into an embrace. "Oh, and they wonder what I'm doing here…and alluded to knowing about my relationship with Karon."

"Is that important to you?" Spock asked quietly, as his hands caressed down McCoy's chest.

"No. Though it may be bad for you reputation, to side with a traitor like me." There was some bitterness in the sentence. 

"Did you do anything that could be seen as traitorous?" Spock asked. 

"Nothing that's in the reg book," McCoy said, eyes closing. The touches felt wonderful, and it surely wasn't by chance that Spock's hands slipped much further down. He spread his legs a little further. "But there are things that don't look good on the outside –"

The door bell chimed, and it took them two signals before they were presentable again. Spock went to the door, but it wasn't the expected food – instead, Pori stood in the frame.

"I'm sorry for the interruption, Captain – I actually wanted to have a brief word with Doctor McCoy, if that's not too much to ask." 

Spock stepped aside. 

"Captain Pori?" McCoy went up from the bed. 

"Maybe…alone?" Pori asked, slightly flustered.

"I don't have any secrets from Mister Spock," McCoy said. Well, guess I couldn't have found a better way to confirm the rumors, he thought as he saw Pori's gaze flutter over the single, large bed. 

"I apologize for Namarra," Pori said. "I have told them that you weren't allowed to divulge your identity, but not everyone seemed to have understood. As for Karon…" he shed a brief glance at Spock, "when you came to the mine, you had a fever and spoke a lot in your sleep. You mentioned him quite often. I realize now how much you must have given up for us. It makes the wrong accusations all the worse."

"They weren't all wrong," McCoy said. "I guess it could be said that I sided with the Klingons enough to compromise my Starfleet oath."

Pori shook his head. "You weren't in a war with them; you were a prisoner and trying to survive. And your survival surely helped many people."

"Never enough," McCoy said sadly. 

The doorbell chimed again, and Spock opened the door for the food. 

"Thanks for coming, Pori." McCoy offered his hand. "Your statement means a lot to me. I wish I could've done a lot more, but I couldn't… Well, good luck with the upcoming transfers."

"Thanks for everything, doctor." Pori shook his hand and took the hint to leave. "Enjoy your meal, gentlemen," he said and left.

Spock placed the tray on the table. "Lunch?" he asked McCoy.

McCoy sat down on the bed again and shook his head. "I'm not hungry." His hands were shaking, and he felt dizzy. Next thing he knew, Spock was at his side with a large glass of warm, sweetened tea.

"Drink," the Vulcan ordered, and McCoy obeyed. The liquid dispelled some of his weakness, but he wanted nothing more than to lie down. Spock accepted his wish and, ignoring McCoy's resistance against getting undressed like an invalid, helped him out of the clothes and put him to bed.

"I'm not that bad off," McCoy said annoyed.

"You are," Spock said from the office corner, where he briefly consulted his computer. "I need to attend the briefing of the POWs. Rest; I will join you after that."

"Don't I have to attend that too?"

"No, your case will be handled differently." Spock came over to the bed and placed a kiss on McCoy's forehead. "Sleep, Leonard," he said softly.

"I await thee," McCoy murmured and cuddled into the warm blankets, falling asleep on the spot. 

*

The sleep, however, wasn't restful. Images invaded his dream, memories of the past. The ice-cold torture room, the day when Karon came to get him out of it… McCoy awoke, and in the blurred area between dream and full awareness, he whispered, "Oh, Karon. I miss you. God, I miss you."

In the past, he'd never understood it when people told him about being in love with two or even more different persons; today, he was in exactly that situation. He had known Spock for so long and in some ways so intimately that coming together now felt like a completely normal development. It was wonderful and he loved being with him, and didn't care if all the world learned about them. _Probably only shows my mental instability, because by all rights it should be complicated and mind-boggling to jump from death's shovel into a Vulcan bonding_, McCoy admonished himself. _But it still feels…right. _

But on the other hand, there were still his feelings for Karon, and he couldn't just push them out of an airlock. He missed him so badly that it hurt. He had missed him every single day in the second mine. If he hadn't gone, the POWs would've been saved anyway because they could've told the rescuers about their position. What had McCoy wanted to prove to himself by going to them? That he hadn't been a traitor to their cause, after all? 

He rolled around in bed, placing his head on Spock's pillow. He really wished Spock were here and would put his mind on something else. Having nothing to do was a concept he had never been able to deal with well in the past, and after the strict regime on Rura Penthe, it was even worse. Spare time meant time to think. Time to think meant time to re-think decisions and regret past things…never a good road to go down.

He rolled on his back again and stared at the ceiling. Closing his eyes, he fondled his genitals. Could be lucky he still had them, after all…he'd seen a few bad things over time. With the exceptions of interrogations and the occasional beatings from the Klingon watchdogs, what prisoners did to prisoners was often worse than anything the Klingons could come up with. There were brotherhoods and gangs that ruled in all the areas that the Klingons showed no interest in. As long as the mine produced dilithium, the prisoners largely organized themselves. There was a group controlling the food distribution; if a prisoner had the wrong species – for example, one that was in a conflict or despised by one member of the controlling gang – he could be sure to receive only the worst, inedible vegetables or the most watery part of the soup. One gang controlled the messages to the outside; only few species were accepted by them, and humans, McCoy soon found out, were on the bottom of everyone's list of favorite species. If he hadn't been one of the two only doctors in the camp, he would've had a hard time surviving. But even the most brutal gang leader made an exception for them; the doctors were part of no gang and no group, only kept to themselves, and treated everyone in the camp as long as they were treated well in return. Only few aliens, usually newcomers, thought they'd achieve anything by threatening them; the last one who ever tried to lay hands on McCoy was made short work of by one of the gang leaders and had to undergo surgery afterwards. 

_'For you, Maqoch,' Malazz the Breen hissed and wiped the blood off on his pants. The Breen's white, slightly furry face with the large, opaque eyes and the blue retinas made it always look like twin seas in the middle of an arctic ground…but it was a dangerous sea of blue, McCoy knew. The Breen were possibly the only species that was comfortable on Rura Penthe, and they were thriving in the challenging atmosphere, all of them at the top of the food chain. McCoy always kept away from these dangerous hunters, but on this day he had been thankful for the protection. Though later, he was forced to pay back the favor... _

McCoy turned to his left side, trying to halt his running thoughts. He coiled and rubbed over his groin again, slightly stimulating himself. Sex sure had been a good, even vital, part of his survival, and the much younger Klingon had been a spurring factor. But the real magic had laid in their love for each other and the will to make their relationship work on all levels, for all their biological differences. They were astonishingly compatible in their work, with McCoy in the lead due to his long career and experience; but in bed, it was clear who had more energy and persistence. 

_There was no reason to complain – Karon took care to not let his Klingon strength and drive reign unguarded, and McCoy could deal with the bites and scratches that seemed to be an inevitable part of any Klingon mating ritual. For a while, they mostly indulged in handwork and oral gratification. It allowed McCoy to explore the Klingon's organ in detail. The head was formed like an egg and had one hard circular ridge around its thin base, from which three ridges ran down to the broad base at the groin in a triangular pattern. The sperm-producing centers were hidden left and right in the groin, so that the erect member looked like a piece of art when it came to life. Fluid was secreted in large amounts when the erection was sufficiently stimulated by strong manipulations at the edge of pain – Klingon-strong, which wasn't an easy thing to match for McCoy at times. Generous appliance of teeth worked wonders, though, and generally resulted in a formidable orgasm. With his hands, lots of scratching and heavy pumping did the job, and somehow the old rule of sex education was right – if you want it to work bad enough, you'll make it work. _

_There was only one thing McCoy didn't feel comfortable with, and that was penetration. His few past experiments had been with a not exactly empathic Vulcan in the lighter phases of pon farr and he'd been too stressed and nervous to enjoy it. And while he'd escaped real rape so far, the pain sticks hadn't done much good at that part of his body. It took the very gentle reminder of Karon's half-erect organ pressing against him once in a while, when the Klingon spooned him, that McCoy started considering trying it again. Nobody completely undressed for the night on Rura Penthe, but they used their fur mantles as mattress covers and blanket. It made some things easier…_

_One night, he gently pressed back. "Would you like that?" he whispered._

_"Too large," Karon whispered back. "Don't want to hurt you, jupoy'na." Beloved one. McCoy smiled. One considerate Klingon. Probably the only one in this universe. He was damn lucky. _

_"It will work, Karon'oy." McCoy opened his pants and, with Karon's help, removed them. Karon pulled down his own pants, and for the first time, these two body parts came together without impediment. _

_"Don't want to hurt you," Karon said again, but his hand was already on McCoy's ass, caressing and kneading the flesh. _

On his bed, alone, McCoy stroked his erection, feeling the warmth flooding him from the memory. Oh god, how he had wanted it that night. And every night after that. 

The mattress moved, and, confused, he opened his eyes. "Spock?" The light was dimmed, and yes, there was Spock behind him, a hot, fiery body. 

Spock pulled his head around for a kiss, then slipped his long fingers into McCoy's underwear to pull them off. He discarded the garment quickly, and Spock's erection pressed against McCoy's ass, just the way McCoy liked it the most. 

"Tell me," Spock said. 

"What?" 

"You were thinking of him. Of your first time like this. Tell me the story while we join." Spock placed kisses at his neckline, while his finger stroked down McCoy's side.

After a short moment of hesitation, McCoy spoke. "I wanted him to do it," he whispered. "He thought he'd hurt me but I was sure he would be careful enough to avoid any damage. We didn't have lube or anything. It was only his fluids to make it easier. I put my hand on his erection and scratched over it, trying to coax some precum out." He reached around and stroked Spock's member. It was hard and long, more than ready for action. As he stimulated its curved head, his thumb glided over sudden wetness. 

"What then?" Spock's voice asked hoarsely. 

His breathing harder, McCoy resumed his story. "I did that for a while, until I thought we were ready for the next step." He lifted his upper leg and tilted it. His fingers guided Spock's erection to his entry.

"He was really very careful. The head was easy. It was round and slick and slipped right in." 

The head of Spock's dick wasn't much broader in its current state, and slipped in just as easily. McCoy closed his eyes, clenching his cheeks together to get more friction.

"Then he pressed a little more, and damn, those three ridges that ran down his dick weren't meant to fit in a human's ass. They slowly spread my ring muscle. I don't know how he managed to control himself so much. Once in a while, he pulled out and then pressed in again. I wanted him so much inside of me, I didn't feel any discomfort. But my body just didn't want to let him in very deep." 

Spock slowly thrust into McCoy, one hand on his hips. Their motions developed into a rhythmic little dance. 

"I told him that it was great and that we'd have a lot of time," McCoy whispered, his voice unsteady. "It would be no problem in a few weeks. Humans could take a lot. He reached around and clamped his fingers around my dick. I could feel how aroused he was, not just from the insertion, but also from the resistance. Klingons just thrive on a little fight and pain. He pulled everything out but the head, then fucked me with short, little thrusts, while his hand clamped around my dick like a tight sheath. It was spectacular."

Spock did just the same, and McCoy couldn't keep from arching into the warm, tight grip. "Yeah, fuck me, Spock. Fuck me like he did." 

"I will," Spock whispered in his ear, the lips brushing over the lobe. "And when I fuck you, I want you to think of him. To remember how he held you, how he wanted you." 

"Yes," McCoy groaned, joining the pushing rhythm. "Oh yes. Don't stop, don't stop." His mind blurred, and everything seemed to come together, the memories of the past and the truth of the here and now and it was Karon – no, Spock, behind him, wanting him, fucking him like there was no tomorrow, and he wanted to melt and burn and die and go to heaven like this, never have it stop yes yes yes…

He came, and it was so explosive and harsh and overwhelming that it robbed him of all air. For a while, all he could do was trying to learn to breathe again. 

At last, he turned around. "Spock…you're wonderful. Thank you." He captured the Vulcan's hand and pressed a kiss on it. "This was a wonderful gift. How did you come up with that?"

"When I entered the room, I caught on to your thoughts," Spock said. 

McCoy looked at him in concern. "I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't help thinking of him."

"I am the one that should apologize, Leonard," Spock said. "Why would I want to steal your memories of the man who saved your life and protected you because he loved you?" 

"Because you want me for yourself?" McCoy said with a small smile. "You know… considering that I've lived most of the last decade like a celibate, Rura Penthe had done something good on that front. I haven't gotten laid so often in all my life. Partly because it was like a drug, I think, to forget about everything else at least for a little while. But it feels wonderful being wanted…and by two such wonderful men to boot. I'm a lucky guy." He stroked Spock's face, drawing his forefinger along the sloped eyebrow. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?"

The eyebrow climbed as expected. McCoy smiled. "And how predictable you are?"

"We both are, to each other – because we know each other so well," Spock said solemnly.

McCoy leaned in for a kiss, and the Vulcan didn't disappoint him. They only parted when McCoy's stomach made a demanding noise.

"You haven't eaten yet?" Spock said, slightly admonishing. 

"No, sir. I have been sleeping and dreaming. But I guess I'd like to eat now."

Spock nodded." The food is cold. We can order something new."

"No, please." McCoy said. "It's just cold food, it's fine." 

"This ship has a full recycling circle, as you well know," Spock said. "Your resistance is illogical."

McCoy sat up. "It's very logical to me," he said, but when he went to the table and saw the cold, rather sad-looking leftovers, they didn't appeal to him at all. 

"Please, allow me to order food for you," Spock said gently as he approached him from behind, placing warm hands on his shoulders. "I had no late meal either; we can share one, if you feel like."

When the food was ordered, McCoy put on a robe and sat down on the table. "So, what about the POWs?"

"The Enterprise will reach Starbase 10 within eight point three hours, where we will meet the Yorktown. She will transfer the POWs and rescued prisoners to Earth."

"Good," McCoy said. Maybe with the exception of Pori, he didn't feel like saying goodbye to any of them. "And what about me?"

"When your health is cleared, you may return to duty onboard the Enterprise. Not as CMO for now, but I assumed that this would not be paramount to you."

"Nope," McCoy said. "But I would've liked to be asked, at least, if I wanted to stay here."

"I apologize," Spock said serenely and sat down opposite to McCoy. "I have not considered that you may decide otherwise. Would you please stay onboard, doctor?"

"Yes, sir. I will." McCoy nodded.

"And would you consider staying in my life as well?" Spock asked.

"Do I really have a choice?" McCoy asked. "If I understood T'Vei correctly, we're already bonded."

"More than a betrothal, less than a bonding," Spock said. "This is the current status, although our prolonged sexual activity will deepen the bonding."

McCoy smiled. "So I could still say no? Do I have to challenge you to a fight or something?" He laughed when he saw the momentary alarm in Spock's eyes. 

"Sorry, Spock, couldn't help myself teasing you." McCoy took Spock's hands. "I want you. I just, uh, would want to wait a little for anything official, okay? Just in case we suddenly find out within the next weeks that it was only a 'hormonal imbalance', after all, and we'd rather not gotten stuck together for the rest of our lives. Could you live with that?"

"Yes, Leonard. Although I do not believe that our decision will change, I agree that there is a minimal chance for this situation being a unique, emotionally exceptional circumstance."

"Good."

The door bell chimed, and Spock got up to open for the food.

"Spock!" McCoy shouted and waved. "Don't you want to put on something before shocking your yeoman?" 

*

On the next morning, the day of their scheduled arrival at Starbase 10, Spock was on his way to the bridge when someone called after him. It was Pori. 

"Captain – may I have a brief word with you?"

"Of course," Spock said, reminded of a similar encounter two days ago when Til'ala had stopped him, feeling the need to entrust that he had been able to raise old contacts on Earth. Since Spock had by then found out that Til'ala had been convicted for shipping illegal drugs, the man's future was irrelevant to him. Pori, however, probably had something more important to say.

They drew into a quiet corridor. Spock laced his hands behind his back, waiting for the man's statement. 

"I don't really know how to say it…," Pori started cautiously, "and it's certainly none of my business, but I'm glad that Doctor McCoy seems to be so much better off, now that he's with you."

Spock lifted a brow. He had no plans to discuss Leonard or their relationship with an outsider, but his curiosity won over his sense of propriety. "Better off?" 

Pori hesitated. "When he came to us, he wasn't in a good shape. And he was behaving rather strangely. Talked a lot to himself, kept largely away from us. Spent most of his time in the room with the dead and dying."

"I gather it was his sense of duty as a doctor keeping him there," Spock said. 

"Maybe, yes." Pori shrugged. "I'm a military man, not a psychologist. All I can say is that he didn't seem quite in his right mind at that time, but that's changed extremely over the last couple days, since he's been here. So whatever had caused his behavior in the mine, it seemed to have had no lasting effect on him."

"He appears very normal and rational to me," Spock said. "Almost more so than in the past, in which he was prone to emotional outbursts."

"Good. As I said, I'm glad that whatever it was, it seems to have gone since he's with you. I wish we all had such good friends waiting for us when we come home." Pori's face looked shadowed. 

Spock nodded, aware of the other man's slight distress, but not wanted to intrude in the man's privacy to find out the reason. "We will reach Starbase 10 in twenty three minutes," he said instead. "I suggest you return to your comrades and prepare for departure from the Enterprise." 

"Of course, Captain," Pori said and straightened. "All my best wishes to you and Doctor McCoy," he added, then turned and left. 

On the bridge, Leduc was once again waiting for Spock with a PADD in her hands. She recited the current ship status, and he half-heartedly listened to her, his eyes on the main screen, on which the starbase showed prominently. It was satisfying that the POWs and the other former prisoner were leaving his ship here. The Enterprise was not prepared for passenger transport. But Pori's words resonated more within him than he had expected. Had there been an oversight on his part?

"Thank you, Commander," he said at last. "I can see that all is well under control. I will release the center seat to you for the time being. You can contact me in sickbay." He left the chair and went to the turbolift, feeling Leduc's eyes on his back until the doors closed.

*

T'Vei was out of sickbay, so Spock went to the CMO's office. "Doctor Miller, may I have a word with you?" 

"Of course," Miller said and waved towards a chair. "What can I do for you?"

"What is your opinion of Doctor McCoy's mental status?"

Miller frowned. "Did anything unusual happen? T'Vei informed me about your connection -"

"This is irrelevant to my question, doctor," Spock assured him. "I am asking because someone mentioned to me that his behavior has remarkably changed from the mine to how he behaves now. Did you find any changes in his behavior or mental capacity since he came onboard?"

Miller turned to his screen. "I took a brain scan when he arrived, and a second one when he was in here yesterday." He called them up, colorful patterns that showed little divergence between them.

"They aren't normal by human standards, but I compared them with older scans and the distribution seems to be normal for him ever since the fal-tor-pan. So if he showed any unusual behavior on the planet, it doesn't reflect on his brain scans. But of course, they never tell the full story." He punched a button and the pictures faded into the Starfleet logo. 

"The only thing I noted about his behavior was that he actually seems to be barely stressed by the last years. Most of the other POWs reported post-traumatic depression syndromes, but he neither reported anything nor does he seem to experience it."

"For most of his imprisonment, he was in a relationship with another prisoner. I presume it had a stabilizing influence on him," Spock said. 

"That's possible," Miller agreed. "And you definitely have a very stabilizing influence on him as well. He is, if I may use such a colorful word, positively flourishing since he moved in with you. His state is improving twice as fast as that of the other POWs. So for the moment, I don't see any reason to be nervous about him." 

"Thank you," Spock said, experiencing a surprisingly profound feeling of relief over the news. "I shall take my leave of you." He rose from the chair when a call from the bridge came in.

"Captain, we've got visitors," Leduc said. And from the inflection of her voice, Spock instantly knew that another challenge was facing him.

*

It was a man and a woman, waiting for him already outside of sickbay. They were dressed in Starfleet uniforms with commander stripes on their sleeves. 

"I'm Commander Thompson." the man said. "This is Commander Rogers. We are here to see Doctor McCoy." 

"On whose orders?" Spock demanded to know.

The woman gave him a PADD. "On the orders of Admiral Sonek of Starfleet Intelligence. The medical report indicates that Doctor McCoy is healthy enough for an interview."

Spock read the orders; there seemed to be no way around them. "A meeting room will be assigned to you," he said. "I will accompany the doctor."

"No listeners are allowed," the woman said.

"Doctor McCoy is my intended bondmate. And as his health is still not restored, I also demand the presence of Doctor T'Vei as his assigned doctor."

The officers exchanged a gaze. "No persons are allowed in the rooms besides the doctor and ourselves. But you may follow the interview via a secure cam," the man said. "Where can we find the doctor? We heard he's not in detention as originally ordered."

"He was with me. There was no reason to condemn a recovering officer to any more days of imprisonment. I shall bring him to you," Spock said.

"We would prefer that someone else bring him in," the man said, the voice soft but the message clear. 

"As you wish," Spock said. He walked to the next intercom and ordered Doctor McCoy to be brought to meeting room four on sickbay level. "It is just over there," Spock said and pointed to the door.

"Thank you," the man said. "We'll wait for him." They went to the room, and Spock quickly alerted T'Vei to assist him. He also sent an orderly to bring water and coffee into the meeting room, then took a place in T'Vei's office in sickbay and switched on the cam.

When the Vulcan healer arrived, Spock quickly briefed her on the situation and the upcoming interview.

"Is there any possibility of preventing it?" he asked at last.

"Not from a medical point of view," T'Vei said. "But if any medical problems arise in the middle of the interview, I shall be ready to stop it."

"I understand," Spock said. On the screen, he could see McCoy being brought into the meeting room. He took a deep breath and settled in his chair, lacing his hands.

*

"Doctor McCoy, I'm Commander Rogers," the woman said. "This is Commander Thompson." They all shook hands. "We're from Starfleet Intelligence and wanted to talk to you about the events on Rura Penthe."

McCoy frowned but took a seat without resistance. "I guess it's necessary," he said, lacing his hands on the table top. "Will this be my debriefing?"

"That depends on the way this interview develops," the man said and switched on a little recorder, placing it in the middle of the table. The two officers took seats opposite to McCoy.

"First of all, our condolences on the death of your friend and comrade Captain Kirk. It must have been a shock for you," the woman said.

McCoy nodded mutely. 

"What happened after his death?"

"I spent a day in the mine – then the war started and the Klingons brought me in for interrogation."

"They assumed you had vital information for them?"

"Well, I knew a lot about the Enterprise…and about the hospital ships of the Fleet and all. They must have thought they could use my knowledge."

"Did you give them any information?" Thompson asked. 

"No."

"I imagine that an interrogation by Klingons is pretty rough."

McCoy hesitated for a second. "Yes."

"What did they do to you?" Thompson asked.

"I…I really don't want to go into details. But they…well, tied me up, beat me with pain sticks. That kind of stuff."

"Did they assault you sexually?" the man asked.

McCoy frowned. "Not how you seem to be implying."

"But still, they tortured you for a while," the man said. "For how long?"

"Maybe…a week or a little longer? I don't really know, it's all blurred."

"And you didn't give them information?"

"No."

"Why did they stop interrogating you?"

"Karon – a Klingon prisoner who also served as doctor and had looked after me a few times – brought me on the case when the Klingon commander fell ill. We saved him and they finally let me go. Guess I was worth more to them alive instead of dead."

"A Klingon doctor. Why was he on Rura Penthe?"

McCoy creased his forehead. "He wasn't a real doctor. He'd essentially worked as a nurse before. And I don't know why he was convicted to Rura Penthe – he never told me."

"Did you keep in contact after the interrogators released you?"

"Yes, we did."

"How close were you?"

"Rather close. We basically lived together." McCoy massaged his hands. "Say, is something wrong with him? Do you know anything about his whereabouts?"

"We'll get to that later, doctor," the man said. "So you say that a Klingon – with whom you later were in a relationship – saved you from the interrogations. Did Karon ever ask you about Starfleet details?"

"Never," McCoy stated with fervor. "He couldn't care less about the 'Fleet. All he cared about was helping others…and me. He was protecting me. Without him, I wouldn't have survived."

"If you had to describe Karon to someone, which words would you use?"

"He was…gentle. Intelligent. Strong. Had honor in a way Klingons claim to have it but rarely do." 

"And he loved you?"

McCoy hesitated. "He…cared for me. We didn't use that particular word."

"I understand." The man made a little note on a PADD. "Did the Klingons ever use a mindsifter on you?" he asked in a non-sequitur.

"They tried, but it didn't work. My guess was because of the old story with Spock's katra. My brain just isn't standard human anymore."

"So after your release, you moved in with Karon, and you did what?"

"We both treated fellow prisoners and even a guard on occasion, with no regards to race as long as we were treated well."

"That's how you managed to survive for two years? On a harsh asteroid like Rura Penthe?"

"There was my work, and there was Karon. We didn't work in the mines, only went down into them in the case of accidents." McCoy reached for his glass of water and took a diligent sip before placing it done again. "He became my student. Klingon physiology, Human, Andorian, Ochra…. You name it, we've seen it all, many races unknown to the Federation, and I taught him what I could."

"You later went to the second mine which was only for POWs. Why did you go there?"

"I volunteered. I wanted to help."

"And what about Karon?"

"He didn't want me to…but I went anyway."

"How were the conditions of living there?"

"Harsh. Worse than in the first mine."

"But you volunteered. Did you achieve anything?"

"I participated in a hunger strike that did some good, when they shortened the rations."

"A hunger strike," the man repeated. "I wouldn't have thought that Klingons would react to that."

"I guess the mine didn't produce enough dilithium anymore," McCoy said with a shrug. "All I know is that they went back to normal rations."

"Do you know what became of Karon?"

McCoy hesitated. "I guess he left with the Klingons when they fled."

"And he didn't ask for you to come with him?"

"I was offered a chance to leave with them, but I said no. I wanted to die with my fellow POWs. I doubt he was even asked if I could come with them." McCoy stared down on his hands. "When we parted, we said good-bye…and both of us assumed that we wouldn't see the other one alive again."

"Tragic story," the man said. 

McCoy looked up with a deep frown. "Yes, it is. But you don't seem to think so really," he stated.

The man stood up and started to pace next to the table. "Maybe I wonder if what you tell us is the truth. Maybe I wonder if you survived for completely different reasons than you present us here."

"Which would be…?" McCoy looked at him in confusion.

"Let's start with a little story of our own," the woman said. "In the weeks after your arrest and deportation to Rura Penthe, Starfleet lost four hospital ships to Klingon ambushes. Two of them hadn't even been launched yet, but were in the final stages of assembly on Utopia Edra. The Klingons came in with warbirds that could shoot in disguise. Many good people lost their lives."

"Terrible," McCoy whispered. 

"Another three smaller cruisers of Starfleet Medical were sabotaged and basically destroyed. The saboteurs seemed to have in-depth information about the security measures for these cruisers."

"And you think…they got that from me?" McCoy looked at them wide-eyed. "I would've had that information, I guess, but as I said – I didn't tell them anything!"

"One of the beaming-in codes was this here –" the woman gave her PADD to McCoy. "Do you recognize it?"

He looked at it for a while, then sighed. "I really don't know. It's been so long…you don't think I can remember something like that, do you?"

"Oh, but we know. It was your code, Doctor McCoy, that was used on that day. Of course, it was a severe oversight that there were places in Starfleet where your codes hadn't been invalidated after your arrest. But you know how that happens."

"I…I don't know what to say." McCoy paled. "I didn't tell them anything, I swear."

"If I were you, I wouldn't swear to that," the man said and pulled his chair over to the short side of the table, sitting down close to McCoy. "When the Klingons left Rura Penthe, they tried to destroy their computer databanks. But they didn't have a lot of time, so Starfleet specialists could recover most of the information saved there. Among it, there are detailed reports on the interrogations that took place in the high security area of Rura Penthe. Many files on the Starfleet officers that were taken in for torture."

"I didn't see any other Starfleet officers," McCoy said. "It was only me…and them. And Karon, later."

The man fished for his PADD and pressed a few buttons. "Most of the reports are translated by now. This one is from the day after your arrival on Rura Penthe. It confirms the testimony of Kirk's death that you gave to Captain Spock. The Klingons had wanted to see Kirk dead – but with the suddenly upcoming war, Chang wasn't pleased that such a great source of information had died. That's why he wanted you alive. Your interrogation started at Klingon stardate 5567.5. Let's see…_ 'We got Kirk's maqoch Doctor McCoy. The great admiral' – I presume they mean Chang – 'thinks he knows something of value. We put him on the steel chair and interrogated him for five hours, then left him hanging for the night. He is very human, he won't last long.'_ What was the steel chair, doctor?"

McCoy swallowed. "It was a kind of metal chair that was sealed into the ground. The back was made of metal bars through which my arms were laced and tied. The seat was cut in the middle and open and my legs were tied to the sides. It was a rather painful position and left me…very vulnerable."

"And that's when they used pain sticks on you?"

"Yes."

"And beat you? Slapped you around? They broke some of your teeth, didn't they? Must have been very painful. And you simply withstood it?"

"Well, I had to."

"Was it cold, there on the seat?"

McCoy blinked. "Yes." 

"And you kept your silence?"

"Yes."

"For how long do you think the interrogation went on?"

"The whole thing? In that room? A few days, maybe?"

"Until Karon managed to get you released."

"Yes. I was in a rather bad shape by then, so I was glad I got out of it."

The man looked down on his PADD. "Between the date of the first report and the note of your release to the mines, more than three months passed in Earth time."

McCoy gaped at him. "That's not possible," he said. "Three months – I wouldn't have been able to survive that."

"That's why we're asking about what really happened." The man looked at him. "You may also be interested to learn that there never has been a Klingon named Karon on Rura Penthe. In fact, there never had been any Klingon prisoner on Rura. It was for aliens only."

"But…he was there," McCoy said helplessly. "He was there with me."

"There is no trace of anyone called Karon on all of Rura Penthe," the man repeated. "The only other doctor on the asteroid was the Klingon's medical officer, and he was old, incompetent, and mostly drunk in his quarters. Even the Klingons hated having to deal with him. 

"Instead, we've got a list of names of male Starfleet officers that had been deported for interrogation there, because the Klingon personnel of Rura had a reputation for being the most brutal in that part of the Klingon Empire. The reports go into detail about what was done to the prisoners. It lists the pain sticks, isolation, branding, freezing, beating, rape, mock executions... You name it." The man threw the PADD on the table. "They even regularly put the chained POWs into the same cages as some of the normal prisoners that had been isolated for extreme brutality and sadism. These prisoners would then do some of the dirty work for them."

"Why…why are you telling me this? I haven't been there," McCoy whispered. "I didn't know about that." 

"You didn't?" The man took the PADD again. "The report from stardate 5568.3, one month after your arrival, lists a Maqoch as one of the prisoners put into such a cell. In the report it says, _'The Breen had their fun with the worms.'_ – That's what they call humans in this report, Terran worms – ter'gagh. _'One of them died, but who cares? We have enough of them. When we took the others out, they begged never to be sent back in.'_" 

McCoy mutely shook his head. "No…"

"And the mindsifter. You said it didn't work on you? We've got other information." The man thumbed through another document. "A week later it says, '_Finally the mindsifter arrived. We chained all worms in a waiting line and sent them through the procedure. They all saw what happened to the one on the chair, how it wailed. They begged and pleaded and offered information. We took the information and sent them through the mindsifter anyway. Several of them died. The others were like brain-dead targh. We put them all on a heap to be thrown outside in the end. The last two in line were spared; they had to remove the bodies._'" 

The man eyed McCoy. "You were one of those spared – you gave your information well beforehand. There wasn't anything interesting left to retrieve from your mind."

"No…no!" McCoy shook his head more vehemently. "That's not true."

"You were in the interrogation wing for three months, Doctor. You were tortured together with the other officers there, until you told the Klingons everything they wanted to know. When they were done with you, they released you into the mine, alone, with Kirk's bloodied uniform as a sneering souvenir of the past. There was nobody caring for you. You were half-mad and sat on the ground in a corner for days until one of the Ochra started to look after you. He thought you were one of their mystic figures – the blue-eyed Shadowman. He was the reason you survived. After your state improved, you started to treat people because that's what you are, a doctor, but you kept living in the dream world you'd created. In the night, you sought out the dying, laying down next to them and holding them until the next morning. Some of the other prisoners thought you were a death angel, and took great care to keep away from you. Others had their fun with you, as you never defended yourself. In your warped fantasy world, every assailant became your lover."

The man placed the PADD on the table, his voice suddenly lower, softer. "The story about the second mine, and the hunger strike… there never was one. When the Klingons saw that the war was beginning to go against them, they decided to collect all POWs in one place and starve them to death. You didn't volunteer to be sent there, and you could save nobody. You were just one lonely, old, disturbed man convicted to a slow death, residing over a room full of dead bodies." 

McCoy raised his left hand, shakily scratching over the lower lip with his nails. "You're seriously implying that Karon never existed? That I invented all of this to escape a court-martial by Starfleet?"

"Yes, Doctor McCoy. Invented or created by your brain, to escape the shame about your break-down… just about nothing of your original story is true, except the story of Kirk's death. The proof is unambiguous."

"All you did was tell me a lot of stories," McCoy stated, his gaze flickering between them. "How do I know that you even have any proof?"

"We thought that you'd say that. We have found video material and pictures." The woman pulled out a few large photographs and handed them to McCoy. 

"Does that ring a bell?" the man asked insistently. "Does that make you face the truth? Do you remember these people? One of them was Richard Moon, he had been a lieutenant on the Enterprise before being transferred to another ship. Not that he looks much like himself in that picture anymore, but I'm sure you recognized him when they brought him in."

McCoy sat there, both hands on the first picture, and stared down on it with blank eyes. Then, in absolute silence, the tears started to flow. 

*

Spock stood next to McCoy's bed, looking down on his lover – friend – comrade. The man he had desperately wanted to saved, and was desperately craving now. The bond had become so strong, he could barely keep away from the mind contact. But this was not the right time. Although he had managed to order the two Intelligence officers off his ship, and Doctor T'Vei had declared McCoy unfit for further interviews, it didn't solve the disastrous situation at hand. 

While Spock would demand to see the proofs and would analyze them himself, he had little doubt the officers had discovered the truth about McCoy's stay on Rura Penthe. There had been no one to protect McCoy, no gentle lovemaking; no heroic actions to save others by going to the second mine. The truth was so much darker, sadder and more painful. 

"Will he remember?" he asked T'Vei and Dr. Miller, who were standing on the other side of the bed.

"There's no telling yet," Miller said. "We've placed him under sedation for now. When he wakes up, I will try and speak to him. But delusions of that depth and complexity aren't usually set aside by a short moment of remembering."

Only a day ago, they had planned their bright future. Now, a long, bleak way seemed painted for them. 

"Captain –" Miller said, waiting for Spock to acknowledge his address, "you should rest for a while. Please. Leduc is in command for now." 

Spock slowly nodded. It was sensible to meditate for a while. Hesitatingly he left the bedside and walked towards the door. Then he re-decided and went to T'Vei's table instead. On it, there were the photographs the Intelligence officers had left. He took them.

"Captain –" T'Vei said, but he simply looked at her, and she retreated, accepting his decision to face at least a weak, two-dimensional, soundless and odorless version of the hell McCoy had gone through. 

Spock walked through the corridors like a sleepwalker, the pictures firmly hidden from the passing crewmembers. Once he was in his quarters, he locked the door and placed them on the table. One by one, four scenes, so different and yet so similar; humans tied in almost impossible angles, their skeletal bodies burned and bleeding, their faces in agony or in the strange quiet of death. He sat down and contemplated them, reflecting on the inhumanity of living beings, on the obvious ease with which they would destroy others. It was nothing new, nothing uncommon, and even in Vulcan's past, these occurrences had taken place. But it would also always remain a mystery to Spock, an unbelievable aspect of life in this universe. Worms, the Klingon had called their human prisoners. In Earth's history, humans had once called other humans logs, and burned them like wood. In both words there was endless degradation of the worth of other intelligent beings, with the sole goal of making their extinction easy and excusable. Reduce the others, see them as animals – and there can be no limits to the cruelty and sadism people of all races will inflict on their enemies.

At last, Spock collected the pictures and placed them upside down on the table. His gaze strayed to McCoy's bag, and he retrieved it and pulled out the Klingon tricorder. He pressed the On button, but there was no activity. He sat down and dismantled the tricorder…and found there was nothing inside of it. It was a dead, broken, empty piece of equipment, and had never told McCoy anything about a patient. 

It was as damaged as McCoy's mind. 

Spock stripped and went to bed, lying down spread-eagled on the mattress, experiencing the cool material beneath his skin, the smell of his lover on the fabric. He closed his eyes, wishing he could summon the mood of last night, the love and the hope. But it was gone; reality had pushed it away, revealed it to be a dream. The man McCoy had talked about had been a shadow of Jim, a transference of aspects. Kirk's maqoch, the Klingons had called McCoy; Shadowman, another alien race. McCoy's loss of identity went together with losing his name. 

Spock's fingers dug around the edges of the mattress. He felt his shoulder and arm muscles hardening. He tensed his legs, at last stiffened all of his body. Took in the physical reality of himself and attempted to ground his thoughts this way. He wanted to meditate, but even the first steps of relaxation eluded him. After another failed attempt, he left the bed and went to his console.

There was a message for McCoy from Uhura, and Spock listened to it with frozen features, her words of friendship, her joy about McCoy's return evident in every line. Soon, Spock would have to answer the message with news he felt not yet ready to face. He closed the message for now and opened a secure document. 

After Spock's death and resurrection, all three of them had signed advance directives, in which they authorized the other two and one blood relative to make decisions in case they were no longer able to. At least two of the authorized persons should agree on a decision. 

In Kirk's directive, this had been his nephew Peter. In Spock's, it was Sarek. In McCoy's, it was his daughter Joanna, and her contact details were in the document. He saved them apart and closed the document again, then contacted sickbay. The patient was awake, Doctor Miller reported, and if the captain would please join them... Spock instantly donned his uniform as a priority message came in, relayed from the bridge. It was from Starfleet Command, and he briefly skimmed it, then hastened to sickbay. 

*

"Captain, a moment please," T'Vei said as he headed to McCoy's bed in the back of sickbay. Her hand was almost touching his arm, signaling him to stop.

"What is it?" Spock said, trying to catch a glimpse of McCoy. "Is there a problem?"

"I want to advise you of his current state, sir. He is awake, but he is not responsive so far. He seems to have withdrawn into himself. He may not react to you the way you would expect."

Spock clasped his hands behind his back. "Has Doctor Miller already assessed his state?"

"Not yet. He will do so after your visit. We would like to keep the doctor under surveillance for three days." 

"This may not be possible. I have just received new orders. We will have to depart from the starbase within twelve hours," Spock said. It forced a quick decision about McCoy's future onto all of them. They walked to McCoy's bed together. Miller nodded as he saw them, signaling he had heard the information.

McCoy lay on his back, in the same position as when Spock had left him sleeping. The eyes were open but empty, showing what had been once described to Spock as a 1000-yards-stare. Spock had seen this kind of gaze before, on deeply traumatized humans. It did not bode well. 

Spock took the hand close to him, lacing their fingers. "Leonard," he said softly. "It is I, Spock. Do you hear me?" He cautiously touched McCoy's cheek. There was no reaction to his tentative contact. "Leonard, you are safe. I am here. You are onboard the Enterprise. Please, talk to us."

There wasn't so much as a blink; McCoy remained silent, frozen - unreachable. 

"I could meld with him," Spock said. "Reach out for him." His fingers glided over the melding points, like a sailor called by sirens. McCoy had to be in there, somewhere.

"Did you meld over the last few days?" T'Vei asked back. "Captain," she repeated more loudly, "did you meld over the last days?"

"I… only once, briefly. It was daunting. There was much pain, grief and loss."

"Then I would not recommend this," T'Vei said. "What you would encounter now – if you reached him – would be a much stronger emotion, which may overwhelm you. You were very close to a bonding. But if it took place now, we would have to release you from command and reassess your mental fitness." 

"We have no time for that," Spock pressed out, pulling his fingers back. 

"No," Miller agreed quietly.

The Vulcan raised his eyes to look at the doctors. "What is your recommendation?" 

Miller and T'Vei shared a gaze. "Send him to Earth," Miller said. "There are specialized institutions that can help him much better than we can right now."

"What about sending him to Vulcan?" Spock asked. 

"It might be an option," T'Vei said. "But the healers would heal him in a Vulcan way. I do not know if this is the right way for him. If you could accompany him, I would assume a more positive effect. But if he is sent alone, I doubt that it would be very helpful."

"I could resign." Spock thought aloud. "The war is almost over. Starfleet Command might grant me that wish on the grounds of my personal situation."

"It is a possibility," Miller said. "But that's a very serious decision, sir. I stick to my original recommendation. Get him to Earth for a treatment by specialists. I've got some connections, I could get him to a very good place. When the war is over, he may have already recovered enough for you to take him to Vulcan, for the next steps. In any case, it will take some time." 

"I agree with Doctor Miller," T'Vei said. 

Spock looked down at his intended mate again. It seemed that fate once more didn't allow them to follow their own plans. "Leonard has a daughter. I will have to inform her, and we will have to decide together." 

"We can be ready to transfer him to the starbase's sickbay within an hour." 

"Good." Spock inhaled deeply. "I will return later." He turned on his heels and left for his cabin again. 

There, he ordered the bridge to initiate an urgent priority call to Earth. 

*** Six months later ***

With speed above the legal limits, Spock drove his rented ground car to the front door of Starfleet headquarters and parked it with a spin right on the space that was kept free for Admiral Nogura. An assiduous young ensign wanted to wave him off, but when Spock descended from the car, little clouds of dust still settling in the air, the man straightened and saluted, a flush on his face. "Sir – Captain Spock!"

"At ease," Spock said automatically. "I will return shortly, but I must go to the Judge Advocate General immediately."

"Aye, sir." The ensign nodded. Spock noted that the young man remained next to his car, as if to guard it. Ignoring this amusing display, he went into the building and showed his identity card to the security guards. They quickly waved him through and he impatiently waited for one of the turbolifts to appear. Some fellow officers passed him and he was forced to greet them and exchange some pointless words with them, for the sake of common courtesy. He was relieved when the lift arrived. It carried its single load upwards and stopped on the 67th floor. When the door opened, he could already hear the voice of the man he'd come for.

"What do you mean, amnesty? I don't give a damn for your amnesty! I want this hearing."

"Please, sir, it is all settled already –"

Spock paced into the office from which the sound came. The scenery looked oddly familiar, a fleeting ghost of past arguments; behind the desk, a surprised and defensive Captain Ling of the Judge Advocate General – in front of the desk, an enraged Doctor McCoy in civilian attire bent over the tabletop, one balled fist on the middle. 

The doctor opened the fist and slammed the desk with his flat hand. 

"Settled? Nothing's settled! How dare you make this decision? I'm ready to testify. I'm ready to plead guilty!"

"Doctor, please –" the captain repeated, then noticed Spock's entry. A wave of relief crossed the woman's face. 

"Leonard," Spock said, breaking the tension instantly. 

McCoy spun around, the expression of anger on his face briefly smoothing into a surprised smile. "Spock! I'll be damned. How did you find me so quickly?"

"When I heard you had left before my arrival, I assumed you would be here."

"Well, fine." McCoy waved his hand. "Do you know what they are up to?"

"Yes." 

"But they won't get away with that. I want my hearing," McCoy stated sharply. "You listening?" He turned back to Ling. "I'm not simply putting it to rest!"

"I am sure that if you insist on a hearing in the future, it will be possible," Spock said calmly, sending a quiet warning to the captain not to claim otherwise.

Ling understood. "We've never had such a case, but there's a first time for everything," she said instantly. "So if it is really your wish, we may find a way to annul the amnesty decree in your case and open a hearing. It would need some time to tweak the regulations, though." 

McCoy was taken aback by the statement. "Good," he said after a moment. "Good."

"Thank you for your understanding, Captain Ling," Spock said. "The doctor will give it all due consideration."

"I can speak for myself." McCoy fixed a frowning glance on Spock. "Thanks, captain, and I'll call you later this week," he said to Ling. "And, uh, I apologize for my behavior from before."

"Accepted. I can understand your agitation." Ling rose from her seat, offering her hand. "I'll hear from you. Good-bye, Doctor McCoy, and my best wishes."

"Thank you." He took the offered hand and shook it. "Good-bye." 

"Good-bye, captain," Spock echoed and gave Ling a nod, appreciating her quick reaction. 

They left the office in silence, McCoy half a step in the lead. Only when they were in the turbolift did McCoy turned to Spock, eyes gleaming. "It's so good to see you," he said.

"As it is to see you," Spock agreed. "It appears your stay in the psychiatric institution was very successful. You seem to be quite your 'old self' again"

"Do I hear a little criticism?" McCoy said. "It sure was. Not the best of times, but necessary."

The door opened, and they fell into silence again. Spock showed McCoy to his car. The ensign was still standing next to it, his face flushing again as he saluted the two men, heroes of the Federation he'd only ever seen in the news. 

"Nogura's parking place?" McCoy said amused as he entered. "You're moving up the ranks."

"That is not in my intention." Spock put the vehicle into gear. "Where shall we go to?" 

"My luggage is still at the mono-rail station next to here. We could pick it up and find a place where we can talk."

Spock steered the car around three corners to the station and remained seated while McCoy retrieved his luggage. It consisted of only one large bag. 

"Mostly clothes and some PADDs with medical literature," McCoy said as he saw Spock's gaze. "Joanna moved into our family residence in Georgia while I was imprisoned, and all my personal things are neatly piled in a back room. Nothing I feel compelled to change." He stowed the luggage in the back and sat down in the passenger's seat again. 

"Where shall we go now?" Spock asked again. Outside, the sun was slowly descending, signaling the proceeding afternoon.

"I know a nice little place with good Italian food. It also has vegetarian dishes," McCoy said. "Jim and I used to go there once in a while." 

Spock agreed, and McCoy directed them to the outskirts of the city, to a small, rather well- hidden restaurant. Inside it was more spacious than expected, all dark wood and red plush like a miniature opera house, and they took seats in a corner in the back, where they would be able to talk undisturbed. 

The waiter brought them menus, and they chose their dishes and water to drink. When the full carafe and two glasses had been delivered, McCoy settled back in his chair.

"So you came all the way down from Eureka?" he asked.

"Of course. When I arrived at the institution, I was informed that you had not only been discharged, but that you had already left."

"I'm sorry," McCoy said. "I knew you'd come to pick me up, but when I received the letter, I just couldn't hold back from storming into HQ and asking them what the hell they think they're doing. Guess I thought I'd be back before you'd arrive."

Spock took a sip of water, thinking about his words before replying, "The amnesty was granted to twenty-three Starfleet officers that had revealed secret information under severe torture. It is not an unusual procedure -"

"I don't care if it's common or not," McCoy snapped. "I don't want that. I don't want to… just get away with it."

Spock raised a brow, signaling his failed understanding.

"Damn." McCoy looked at some point above Spock's head, his right hand curling into a loose fist. "For months, I've been working to reach a point at which I'd be able to face the truth. What had really happened. And now that I'm ready to step in the front of a commission and say yes, I'm guilty of betraying secrets, they just let me off the hook. It's an ending, but there's no closure for me. Can you understand that, Spock?"

Spock chose his words very carefully. "The admiralty accepted the unusual circumstances under which the betrayal took place. All of the surviving officers have suffered or are still suffering from psychological and physical -"

"It was part of my job," McCoy interrupted him. "Part of the risk. And I failed, badly." He swallowed hard. "How could I ever repair the losses others had to endure because of me? Many fine men and women were killed due to information I gave the Klingons. There were other prisoners who would have rather died than say a word. How did they do that…and why did I break down? Tell me, Spock. Why?"

"I am sure you have already tried to answer this question yourself," Spock said softly.

"Oh yes, I have…" McCoy averted his gaze. "And I didn't like the answers very much."

"Leonard –" Spock reached out with his hand and placed it, palm up, beside McCoy's. "Starfleet has forgiven you for your failure, in the understanding that the circumstances were beyond what a human being could possibly endure. Now that you remember what has taken place on Rura Penthe, it is maybe time to grant yourself the same forgiveness." 

McCoy looked back at him, shining blue eyes in the weathered, crinkled face. "I know… everyone keeps telling me that. But it's not that easy." His gaze drifted to the offered hand. "Spock, I… I'm not sure what I want. Where to go now." 

"I will not pressure you into a decision," Spock said, and pulled away his hand to retrieve an old-fashioned paper letter from his pocket. "However, I was asked to give you this."

"What's it?" McCoy asked, unfolding the document. On the top left, the seal of the Vulcan Academy was featured prominently. Below it, there was a short, handwritten note. "Oh – an invitation by Doctor T'Vei, to join her new research team on Vulcan hybrids in Shi'Kahr." After a moment he folded it back and put it on the table between them. "Did you talk her into that?" 

"On the contrary," Spock said. "She called me to inquire about your whereabouts, as you are one of the few experts in this field. With the growing intermixing of species in the Federation, which has increased because of the refugee situation, it is an increasingly important field on Vulcan and other planets."

"I'm only an expert on you," McCoy said. "By all rights, I should retire."

"Your knowledge is still valuable. I have heard you were recently approached about contributing to a work about Klingon physiology."

"As if I know anything about it," McCoy said with a bitter laugh. "Only in my dreams."

Noting that the discussion – and McCoy's mood – was deteriorating, Spock was relieved when the arrival of the waiter with two steaming plates interrupted them. They ate in silence. Once in a while, Spock would eye McCoy over the edge of his vegetarian pasta, but McCoy's concentration was solely on his steak with baked beans.

Only when they had finished and sat back, ordering two coffees, did McCoy met Spock's gaze again.

"Sorry for taking my mood swings out on you. It's not how I thought our first meeting would turn out. I'm really thankful for what you did for me." 

"It was my obligation…and my pleasure."

"I'll never get used to you using such vocabulary," McCoy said. The coffee arrived, and he stopped until the waiter was gone again. His fingers picked up the spoon, toying with it. "I don't quite know how to ask you, Spock, but I've got some memories from after the rescue and I'm not completely certain if they are for real. And I'd like to know…well, if something really happened between us, or if that's just been another delusion."

Spock looked at McCoy, at the man for whom he had waited the last six months. He had always reminded himself that things may change between them again, that McCoy might not desire him in the same way as Spock wanted him now, but facing the real possibility of losing what might have become a true bond partner was causing an inner pain Spock had not been prepared for. Should he lie to McCoy and let his friend move on, into his own life? Or was this McCoy's way of giving Spock a chance to step away from the bonding plans they had engaged in? His throat tight, Spock took a deep breath before allowing the answer to form.

"For a short time, after your rescue, we indeed engaged in a sexual relationship. I apologize that I had misjudged your situation. Only afterwards I realized that you had not been truly able to consent to our joined activities."

"Oh, if I remember correctly, I wanted it too." McCoy put away the spoon.

"You thought so about other situations too," Spock said cautiously.

"Those memories changed. The ones about us…they never changed." McCoy smiled slightly. "Okay, Karon moved out. But still…" He rubbed his chin. "Good memories."

"I am relieved to hear that."

"When you invited me to come to Vulcan with you, what exactly did you have in mind?"

"My foremost goal is to see you fully healed," Spock replied. "I presumed that a stay on Vulcan with interesting work would be conductive to this development."

"And what about – us?"

"It is solely your decision what will become of us."

"Dear heaven." McCoy rolled his eyes. "Could you please give me a straight answer? Do you still want a relationship with me?" 

"I will accept whatever you are comfortable offering. Resuming our friendship or moving on to a relationship – it is your decision."

McCoy sighed exaggeratedly. "You sound like a damn saint, Spock, and it doesn't become you."

"If you really want to know, Leonard –" Spock extended his hand over the table again, palm facing upwards, "then touch me." His dark eyes searched McCoy's blue ones, daring the human to retreat from the challenge. McCoy's breathing accelerated, but moments later, his hand joined Spock's.

They both involuntarily closed their eyes as their minds connected over that simple touch. Feelings and images flooded back and forth between them, strong and bright, catching them by surprise with their intensity. Only with effort did they managed to unlace their hands again, unwilling to display any inappropriate behavior in a restaurant. There was no question what Spock really wanted – and there was also no question that McCoy had been hoping for a renewal of their relationship. 

"If you still want this mad man, that is," McCoy whispered, his fingertips only millimeters apart from Spock's.

"You are not mad. You were only ill."

"It's a very fine line between the two. There are still some memories of which I can't tell if they are true or not. Nobody can."

"I have never shared this with anyone," Spock said slowly, "but after the fal-tor-pan, there were several memories I could not sort out. Even today, I have vivid images in my mind which cannot have happened in reality, but I still seem to remember them. So your situation is very well-known to me."

McCoy nodded. "Makes sense. Sometimes I've wondered about that, but I didn't want to ask." He took a deep breath. "Let's get out of here."

"Yes," Spock agreed. They went up to pay at the counter, McCoy picking up T'Vei's letter on the way, stashing it in his pocket. He put his foot down on Spock paying for them both and insisted on separate bills. Outside, it was already dawn. The first lights sparkled in the houses around them. 

"Sometimes, Jim would drive up that hill –" McCoy pointed up the street to their right, toward a road that sloped along to a distant elevation – "so that we could look down on the city. He'd speak about the farm he planned on buying, and the horses he wanted to have. I wish…"

Wordlessly, Spock drove them up said hill. From there, they could see parts of the city, small houses and randomly illuminated towers against the darkening sky, trees moving in the evening breeze. They remained in their seats, silently looking outside. Their hands met in the middle in a light, careful touch, over which their feelings quietly resonated - happiness for what they had found, and regret that Jim could not be here with them tonight. 

"If I told you the story – the true story – of the last years," McCoy said at last, into the darkness, "would you listen to me?"

"Yes, Leonard. Like I listened to you six months ago, I will listen to you again, for as long as you want me to."

McCoy leaned against Spock, his head coming to rest on his friend's shoulder. 

"I'll tell it to you then… once we're home on Vulcan."

***


End file.
